


Shared History

by helloshepard



Series: helloshepard's TRANSFORMERS fics (20whenever-2019) [6]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bayverse references, Big Bang Challenge, Body Dysphoria, Canon-Typical Violence, Effects of nonconsensual body modification, Empurata, Fade to Black, Gladiators, IDW comics references, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2020-09-26 18:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: Written for the 2019 TF Big Bang.Struggling to reconcile who he once was and who he is now, the recently-disgraced Shockwave finds himself in the midst of a burgeoning political revolution.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the 2019 TF Big Bang, hosted by Ptero! Updates will be posted Sunday afternoon/evenings, depending on your time zone.

Of all Cybertron’s polities, Kaon’s regulations on those affected by empurata were practically nonexistent, and even its caste hierarchy is more of a formality than an unquestioned truth. Kaon also had the distinction of being as far from Kalis as a mech could get. 

Finally, perhaps most importantly, Kaon was also the main location of his contact: a gladiator initially named D-16, who had taken upon the name Megatronus after his rise to fame in the arena. 

It was for these reasons Shockwave found himself on one of the few public transports leading out of Cybertron’s main cities. It was a squalid, ramshackle transport, but it was not crowded. The few mechs who sat on its benches were as filthy as the vehicle itself.They kept their gazes downcast, refusing to meet Shockwave’s optic. He did not mind—most mechs, headed to Kaon or not, tended to avoid his gaze.

So he sat alone, watching massive, ornately decorated buildings give way to empty plains, then to hastily-erected slums and tenements.

Shockwave was not surprised in the least when the operator pulled off the track to make a field repair. They were already on the outskirts of Kaon, but not nearly close enough to walk to his destination. Though it was the middle of the day, the skies were a murky brown—no doubt the direct result of Kaon’s extensive mining operations. 

Briefly, Shockwave considered offering to help the operator, but the notion was quickly discarded. The less his presence was noticed, the better. 

The city of Kaon was equally filthy as its outskirts, if not more so. Smoke churned up in thick pillars from the mining depots, and the sky seemed to grow even darker as Shockwave trudged through the street. The roads were caked with layer upon layer of grime, and by the time Shockwave reached the arena, he felt the grit settling on his plating. Shockwave made no move to clean himself; while he was not officially a fugitive, it would do well not to draw attention to himself.

The arena somehow managed to be even filthier than the streets above—clearly, the sponsors of this particular illegal venue didn't care to waste their shanix on things like a cleaning crew or maintenance drones. The dull roar of the crowd around him was a far cry from the quiet despair of the streets he had lived in for so long, but the nervous energy of beings who had nothing left to lose pervaded even here.All the same, it irked him. 

As he pushed through the crowds, Shockwave had to wonder what would become of them all—Flame, Scorponok, Mesothulas. Likely the latter would be fine; the youngest of Shockwave’s protégés was brilliant, but not smart enough to conceal his occasional fling with an Enforcer from Petrex. Flame and Scorponok, on the other hand had neither shown an aptitude for concealing the more questionable aspects of their work. Until recently, Shockwave had not seen a reason to encourage such behavior. His position had been secure, his students trusting and eager. If only his patron senator had been so reliable. And what of Jihauxus, his brilliant, far-sighted mentor? 

Shockwave pushed all thoughts of his former colleagues out of his mind and allowed the flow of the crowd to direct him to the main arena. He took a moment to assess the structural integrity of the place. It would not do to be crushed by ten billion tons of metal and earth simply because a mech wanted to save a few shanix. The structure seemed secure enough, even with the eager, agitated crowd jostling into position.

No one paid Shockwave any mind. The layer of grime on his plating was disguise enough—the once-clean lines dividing green paint from blue were blurred. He navigated to an open seat easily, setting in between a massive construction frame with a dialectical energy processor affixed to his back and a blocky miner, armor streaked with ore-rich muck.

The matches had already begun—the mechs fighting were there for baseless amusement, to build the bloodlust coursing through the masses to the tipping point, a point only Shockwave’s contact would manage to sate. Such garish, primal display of emotion were tiring, and for the first time, Shockwave questioned the wisdom of evading the relative safety of his home polity’s slums to come here.

Until now, his communications with Megatronus had been purely professional, each hinting at the others misfortunes—Shockwave was not sure how or where the gladiator had acquired his personal communications channel. Regardless, Shokwave had been drawn to the gladiator’s cause, not for any of the soft moral platitudes of fairness Megatron spouted, but because he promised safety, a place for an outcast to work. Megatronus promised freedom to pursue his own projects. To bring about a world defined by ability, not appearance. A world Shockwave would thrive in, where the unwanted modifications to his frame would no longer be considered a hindrance to his status. 

And Megatronus had been drawn to Shockwave because Shockwave promised him weaponry, advanced designs to supply whatever revolution the gladiator was planning.

The invitation had been formal, but offhand, and Shockwave had not planned to take Megatronus up on his offer so soon.

Regardless, Shockwave was prepared. The plan for dark matter-powered weaponry were safely stored in a highly-encrypted subspace located just beneath his right wrist. Even mechs like Bombshell or Cerebros would have difficulty gaining the access codes from his brainpan. 

Shockwave idly devoted a partition of his processing power to consider possible retaliatory measures. Once his position with Megatron was fully secure, he doubted even the most stubborn, well-indoctrinated of the Enforcers would be able to bring him in. The first order of business, of course, would be to reconnect with his mentor. Then together, they could devise a plan. And even if Jihauxus was not interested in revenge, Megatronus surely would not waste an opportunity to attack the proletariat. 

As Shockwave thought, the formerly dull roar of the crowd heightened to a deafening cry of bloodlust and desperation. Shockwave looked up.

Megatronus stood in the center of the arena. He gleamed under the blinding lights, a polished silver with stark blue accents the color of spilled Energon—a deliberate design choice, Shockwave knew. He carried no weapons Shockwave could readily identify, save for his hands: where the miner-turned-gladiator’s fingers had once been blocky, designed to operate unsophisticated mining equipment, he had sharpened the individual digits to a point, creating wickedly sharp claws likely capable of disemboweling a careless opponent. His frame was massive, a carryover from his mining days.

Megatronus faced his opponent. Shorter than the other gladiator by nearly a head, the mech’s dark, matte plating seemed to suck the light in, leaving a void of color and light. He too carried no visible weapons, and had elected to cover his face with a battlemask. Compared to Megatronus, this opponent appeared no larger than a minicon, though intellectually, Shockwave knew he and this mech were of similar size. 

Megatronus was shouting, demanding the crowd silence themselves. Shockwave realized the gladiator must have some kind of internal amplification modifications—he was easily heard over the din of the spectators. His voice was sonorous, reverberating against flimsy walls and frenzied spectators.

Though never directly, many had asked Shockwave if the procedure removed his emotional runtimes, if the Institute had not stopped at removing his helm and his hand. They never dared ask outright, for fear of incurring the Institutes attention, but the unspoken question remained nevertheless in every initial interaction. 

But Shockwave's emotions remained intact. He was not immune to the gladiator's words, to the power resonating behind them. 

The crowd quieted, hushing themselves until the roar had faded to a dull murmur.

Intrigued, Shockwave leaned forward. Where the mechs in the upper castes ruled with the dual iron fists of blackmail and funding, Megatron seemed to rule through sheer force.

“—rid of you?” Megatronus turned, dark blue optics wide with passion. He seemed to be staring directly into Shockwave’s own optic, though Shockwave knew it was so unlikely it had not factored into his calculations. “I ask—who were I and Soundwave to be beneath you, condemned to bleed and die while you cheer for our deaths?”

Soundwave—if that was truly the other gladiator’s designation, not some stage name—straightened as Megatronus finished his speech. Distantly, Shockwave realized that the crowd had fallen entirely silent. 

Megatronus and Soundwave waited, still and silent in the thick air—Megatronus staring into the crowd, Soundwave staring at Megatronus. 

A sharp, shrill cry pierced the still air, and the match began.

Despite the base, carnal nature of gladiatorial entertainment, Shockwave found himself oddly captivated, drawn to the fighters and their swift, calculated movements. There was something about the way Megatronus and his opponent moved, fluidity of motion as they parried and dodged that had Shockwave leaning even further forward, as though his presence could in some way affect the match’s outcome.

Of the two, Soundwave was infinitely more graceful. He moved like a Iaconian dancer, light on his feet and barely seeming to stay in one place for more than a microsecond before twisting or turning. Where Megatronus was brute force given life, Soundwave was speed and physics in their purest forms. It made Shockwave wonder at the mech’s true potential, how much he was holding back.

He wondered how fruitful recording the match might be, if only to study the gladiator’s combat techniques for future weapons development. A quick search of the Cybertronian extranet brought up several thousand copies of matches featuring Megatronus. Shockwave downloaded a few, then altered his query to include Soundwave. Idly, Shockwave skimmed one: a tribute to Soundwave created nearly two centuries ago. Soundwave hadn’t changed much since then—if anything, he had gotten faster, fine-tuning his fighting style until it appeared, at least to Shockwave, very nearly perfect. 

It was with a slight twinge of disappointment that Shockwave realized a mech like Soundwave likely would have little use for the heavy-duty weaponry Shockwave was planning to develop. He deserved something with more finesse, more subtle power.

The angry roar brought Shockwave back to the present. Soundwave had succeeded in tearing off one of his opponent’s arms. His own arm was damaged; even from this distance, Shockwave could see the streaks of Energon and sparking, damaged circuits.

With a motion so fast Shockwave nearly missed, Soundwave had turned Megatronus’s raw strength against him, nearly sidestepping a blow and using his functional arm to flip the gladiator onto his back.

The crowd bellowed their thundering disapproval—evidently, Megatronus was the crowd favorite, though privately Shockwave wondered how anyone could look at Soundwave and not believe him to be the superior mech.

Soundwave knelt. A hand grasped his opponent’s throat, and Shockwave knew that if Soundwave so desired, the effort to snap the sensitive cables and wires Megatronus’s neck would be practically negligible.

And then Megatronus revealed a blade. The arena was far too loud to actually hear the _ snik _of unsheathed metal, or to hear it punching through armor and protoform. But Shockwave imagined he could hear it nonetheless.

Soundwave staggered back, falling to his knees, and it was only then that Shockwave noticed the punctures in his opponent’s armor—four thin, equally-sized holes in the other gladiator’s throat. 

A draw? Shockwave was no expert in Cybertronian gladiator customs by any stretch of the imagination. The data packet he downloaded a moment ago provided little detail on the optimal outcome for a fighter, but judging by the crowd's angered chants, it was obvious this was not it. He doubted he would see the mech again, and allowed himself a moment to worry over Soundwave, to wondered what awaited him once he was escorted back to the barracks. 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder then, and it took all of Shockwave's considerable self-discipline not to jump. 

He had never seen this mech before, but the suspicious optics, coupled with the near-invisible seals from dozens of surgeries all but confirmed the mech standing before him was a gladiator. No name was offered, and Shockwave did not ask. 

A jerk to the mech's head was all the signal Shockwave needed. Before he could stand, the gladiator began walking away, oblivious or uncaring to the throngs of people around them. Shockwave followed. When he looked back at his seat, his hands had left dents in the thick metal.

The entrance to the barracks was heavily guarded, but the crowds did not seem to care. They pressed against the stone-faced guards, wide optics desperate as they struggled to get a glimpse of their heroes. Shockwave had a moment to wonder at the emptiness in these mechs lives, to be so pining over celebrities they would never meet in person. 

Despite the dingy exterior, the barracks were relatively clean—at least compared to the arena. A quick scan of the floor revealed minimal staining and nearly no organic contaminants. Shockwave allowed himself a moment of surprise when he saw a group of cleaning drones busily scouring the floors with UA light. 

With a barely-audible grunt, his guide indicated their destination lay just ahead, inclining his head to a door that looked nearly identical to the others. 

Shockwave stepped into a sparsely-decorated room. Besides the small shelf of cleaning products and touch-up paint, there was nothing to indicate anyone had ever lived here.The only indicators of rank were a massive recharge slab with a gladiator’s name emblazoned on the side, and the window, which looked out into the now-empty arena.

"Shockwave,” a now-familiar voice rasped. “A pleasure, though an unexpected one."

Somehow, Megatronus was less intimidating up close. From this distance, Shockwave could see the unkempt armor, hints of rust creeping in the gladiator's seams. His empty arm socket sparked and crackled as damaged circuits struggled to connect to their missing components. 

"Megatronus."

The gladiator chuckled. It sounded like gravel being crushed under a wheel. 

"An ancient name, one I have been considering altering for my own purposes." Megatron was posturing now, though there was no need for it. Shockwave did not need to be persuaded to see the gladiator’s side. 

"Indeed," Shockwave said. There was no struggle to keep his voice neutral. "Your own twist on a designation grounded in history would seem to suit your purposes." 

Megatronus grinned, and for the first time, Shockwave saw his teeth. Like his fingers, the had been sharpened to vicious, deadly points. Shockwave harbored no illusions that they were merely decorative. Every aspect of this gladiator's frame had been modified, but where Soundwave's body was a finely tuned, efficient work of art, Megatron's frame was designed for maximum destruction. 

"Shorten it, perhaps." Megatronus turned away, and Shockwave wondered if he was considered such a minor threat that the gladiator felt secure enough to turn his back. "Megatron." 

"Indeed," Shockwave repeated. He was unsure what response Megatronus was expecting. Was this a test? Some way to gauge his loyalty? What would providing commentary on his designation prove—or disprove? His voice remained neutral—not hard to do certainly, but Shockwave wondered what inflection Megatronus expected him to provide. 

The door had not closed behind him, so there was no warning when Shockwave felt the lightest brush of a presence against the plating on his back. He turned sharply, expecting the guard, only to come face to face with Soundwave. 

Something in his chest spun, almost out of control. Soundwave, the beautiful, lithe gladiator who had been the _ loser, _ was here. Not taken to some kind of back room and subjected to unspeakable horrors. Energon still coated the dark blues of his frame, and Soundwave walked gingerly, as though the painkillers had not yet set in. Shockwave examined the welds on the gladiator's torso. They were clumsy, imprecise things, certainly the quality he had _ expected, _ but not what he had hoped. At once, Shockwave wondered if _ he _would be expected to conduct repairs. 

"Allow me to introduce Soundwave," With a flourish befitting his status as champion, Megatronus turned to present Soundwave, who had made his way to stand at the gladiator's side. This close, it was clear why many considered Soundwave outmatched—Megatron stood at least a head above the smaller gladiator and was easily twice his width. Where Megatron was brute force, Soundwave was strategy, finely tuned to a perfect edge. "My second in command, currently in charge of coordinating our efforts throughout Kaon." 

"A pleasure." This time, it took some effort for Shockwave to keep his voice neutral. "Your fight was most...diverting." 

Though Soundwave's reaction was obscured by a battlemask, Megatronus glanced at the smaller gladiator and grinned a feral grin. 

"You would do well to learn some form of combat, Shockwave," Megatronus rested a hand on Soundwave's shoulder. Soundwave did not react, and Shockwave could not discern the intent behind it. Possessiveness? Camaraderie? 

"I had believed my talents would be best suited to the laboratory," Shockwave said. "But I am willing to learn." 

"Your talents," Megatronus said. "That did beg the question: why an esteemed scientist such as yourself would find a need to seek a place of refuge among us." 

Shockwave gestured to his helm. It should be a simple enough answer; one Shockwave had answered countless times before. He did not mention the fact that Megatronus had been the one to reach out first.

So this _ was _posturing, Shockwave realized: demonstrating to Soundwave and anyone else who might be listening.

Megatronus rumbled some kind of assent. 

"Very well." Megatronus turned, gazing out to the now-empty arena. "Escort our new scientist to his quarters, Soundwave. I expect the coming days will be arduous for us both." 

Soundwave nodded. 

Without further preamble, Soundwave slipped past with that same nonexistent touch on his frame and stepped out into the hall. Shockwave followed. Despite what he had expected, it was quiet—there were the automated cleaning drones and the occasional mech making their way through the halls but otherwise, he and Soundwave were alone. 

Soundwave's footsteps were nearly silent. Were it not for the silence of their surroundings, Shockwave would not have heard him. He stepped along the hall like a shadow, leading them deeper into the structure. In a way, it was almost a relief. After the fight and the ensuing discussion with Megatronus, the silence was a welcome change. 

Shockwave's room was nondescript, apparently attached to an empty operating theater—which would presumably be his workspace. Soundwave indicated to the door with one spindly hand, and Shockwave nodded. 

Soundwave stepped aside, and Shockwave moved forward, intending to enter his habsuite. 

Instead, Shockwave stopped. 

"Your welds," Shockwave nodded to Soundwave's side. "Do you wish for me to examine them?" 

Soundwave paused. He did not look down at the injury, but Shockwave could not help but notice the faintest hint of a wince as he turned back to face Shockwave. 

Shockwave had exactly one second to wonder what had so compelled him to offer his yet-unproven services to the gladiator before Soundwave nodded. 

It was then that Shockwave realized he had no idea where to locate equipment. He had basic medical supplies and an engineering toolkit, of course, but little in the way of advanced supplies needed in the event something unexpected occurs. 

"Return in an hour," Shockwave offered. "Or if you prefer, meet me here at the onset of the activity cycle." 

His comlink pinged. Shockwave accepted the transmission. 

It was Soundwave. His channel carried several layers of encryption Shockwave _ thought _might be illegal, and several others that most certainly were, but Shockwave was comforted by the fact that this mech took security seriously. The data packet was heavily encrypted, containing all of Soundwave’s relevant medical information as well as the indication that a later time was desired. Shockwave was not immune to the glyphs in the latter half of the message, somewhat amusedly informing him where the head medic kept his cache of supplies. 

"As you wish." Shockwave said as a farewell, and Soundwave nodded his assent before turning and walking down the hall.

And then Shockwave was left in front of a nondescript, pitted gray door.

He took a moment to ensure he was alone before entering in the code. 

As expected, the room was nearly empty. A recharge slab was shoved into one corner and a refurbished data terminal connected to the opposite wall, but otherwise the room was empty. Still, it was better than the filthy, rust-infested shelters he had lived in before traveling to Kaon. Shockwave sat on the slab and accessed its rest function, commanding the computer to awaken him once the minimum allotted time had passed. 

Three cycles later, Shockwave awoke to the computer's abrasive alarm. He was nearly as exhausted as before, but his energy levels had crept back up into the mid range. Soundwave's data packet had pinpointed the location of the barrack's Energon distillery, but Shockwave ignored the alert in his HUD, choosing instead to sit up and lean against the cool metal wall. 

He accessed the file Soundwave had sent him, taking the time to familiarize himself with Soundwave’s medical history: past injuries, a slight allergy to radon. It was thorough but brief, Shockwave noted with some relief: it seemed Soundwave spent far less time in the medical ward than the average gladiator.

Shockwave sat up fully and moved to the exit. At this point in the gray interim between rest and activity, the halls appeared as empty as they had been a few hours previous. Shockwave saw no one as he walked through the halls, following the coordinates Soundwave had provided. 

He had hoped the main medical ward to be as deserted as the rest of the facility. Instead, a sleek mech in black armor sat at a polished desk, red optics narrowed in concentration. 

It is only then that Shockwave realized he had no idea what the head medic’s name was. The mech's public identifier was incomplete or badly corrupted, with only a strange, macabre pun in place of a designation. 

Shockwave had to admit that his own public identifier was not in much better condition. So he stepped forward, but did not offer a hand. 

"My name is Shockwave,” he said. “I am seeking access to your supply room." 

The mech looked up, and a strange realization crossed his face. 

"You're the one Soundwave was going on about." 

Shockwave was unsure how to respond to that. He had been under the impression Soundwave was not one to be 'going on about' anything. 

"My name is Shockwave," he repeated. 

"Flatline," the mech said, which at once confirmed Shockwave's initial interpretation of the surgeon's humor. Flatline's optics were alight with something akin to interest, though Shockwave could not help but feel the surgeon was trying to decide what the most efficient way to cut him open might be. "A pleasure." 

"Soundwave informed me the needed supplies for his repair were located here," Shockwave said. Perhaps Flatline would be would be willing to provide an explanation for Soundwave's shoddy repair. Flatline nodded. 

"He mentioned you'd be around," Flatline said, in a tone of voice that implied he was party to some kind of inside joke. "Said something about you finishing his repair procedure." 

When Shockwave didn't reply, Flatline stared up at him, red optics examining Shockwave's featureless face for some kind of discernable emotion. When there was none forthcoming, he nodded sagely, as though the answer to some long-hidden secret had finally been revealed.

"Through there," Flatline gestureed to a nondescript door Shockwave would have mistaken for the entrance to a storage closet. "Everything you could possibly need to further your career as a..."

Flatine trailed off. "What did Megatronus bring you on as?" 

"Engineer." 

"Right." Flatline gestures to the supply room with a practiced flourish. "Everything you might need to further your career as an engineer amongst our esteemed ranks." 

"Appreciated," Shockwave said. He sensed no hostility from Flatline, though the mech was certainly entitled to some measure of defensiveness. Shockwave was the interloper here, but so far, Flatline had been the most welcoming of them all. Shockwave made a note to keep an optic on him, in case distancing himself from the mech might be required. 

As Flatline promised, there was plenty—enough to supply a small hospital. Quite frankly, it was shocking—he had never seen some of this equipment outside of medical demonstrations, and the sheer quantity of supplies was nearly mind-boggling. Flatline looked over the bounty with disinterested eyes. 

"Guess the sponsors didn't want to keep throwing good money at mechs who'll die for lack of medical care . Better to keep the good ones healthy and ready to fight." Flatline made a face. "To entertain, really."

"Entertain." Shockwave had kept his replies limited, and he was not planning on elaborating or asking for an explanation, but Flatline didn't seem to mind. 

"Yeah, _ you know. _ Entertain." Flatline sighed. _ "Unfortunately, _ sponsors weren't too keen on the body modifications _ I _ specialize in. I came here on the promise I'd be able to put Bombshell's Devastator to _ shame, _and what do I get for it? Stuck patching up mechs who fight on the dimes of the rich and famous." 

"You specialize in combiners," Shockwave said.

Flatline scoffed. "Specializ_ed. _ Past tense. _ I _ should have gotten the Senate contract, but you go and brainwash _ one _ Enforcer into becoming a combiner and suddenly everyone's lining up to kiss your aft. My triplets were _ solid. _Battle-hardened and ready for war, but everyone is going nuts over mind control these days." 

Some sort of realization hit Flatline then, because his optics softened as he took in Shockwave's frame. 

"I guess you'd know all about that." Flatline sighed, and Shockwave made no move to correct him. "Anyway. If you need something special ordered, let me or Scalpel know and we'll get it for you." 

Shockwave nodded, and Flatline moved back to his desk, leaving Shockwave alone in the blessed quiet. Shockwave disregarded yet another an alert in his HUD requesting permission to locate the nearest distillery and stepped into the supply room. It was twice as large as it looked from the outside, and it took a good fifteen minutes to locate the needed supplies. Though dexterity had been limited to his one remaining hand, it was a simple manner to select the needed materials and transport them back to his own laboratory. 

His laboratory was not as large as Flatline's, but it was more than adequate. Shockwave took a moment to ensure the diagnostic console is functional before setting everything on their proper shelves. A quick glance of his chrono told him Soundwave was expected within ten minutes. Shockwave took that time to sterilize the room completely—while he might be underprepared in terms of Soundwave's exact injury, he could at least ensure Soundwave would _ not _be dying of an infection.

By the time Soundwave stood outside of the laboratory, calmly requesting entry, the room had been sterilized, the surgical tools laid out neatly on their tray, and Shockwave felt considerably less nervous than he had an hour ago. 

The door opened to reveal Soundwave, looking noticeably more spry than the night before. The weld appears to have held over the night, though there were visible stains where Energon leaked out, staining gray armor a dirty blue. Entirely unsurprising. What _ was _surprising was the cube of energon Soundwave pressed into Shockwave's hand.

"I do not require Energon," Shockwave lied. Of course, it was that that moment his HUD decided to emit an audible beep, alerting him to potentially low fuel levels. Shockwave bit back a sigh and accepted the cube. Soundwave tilted his head in what Shockwave thought might have been a smug gesture and stepped further into the room. 

"I am curious," Shockwave said, "As to why you believed it necessary to refuse prompt repair." 

Soundwave just tilted his head up to look Shockwave directly in the optic. And then he stepped forward, moving at a measured, unhurried pace. He barely came up to Shockwave's shoulder, but Shockwave _ knew _ he stood no chance if Soundwave decides to kill him. Why he might _ want _to is an entirely different question, one Shockwave had no easy answer, but he had not yet discounted the possibility that Soundwave was an assassin, hired by the Senate or the Enforcers to finish him off.

Instead, Soundwave looked him over once. Then twice.

And then, having reached some unknown conclusion, Soundwave nodded to himself, then sat on the operating table. 

Shockwave pushed his extraneous thoughts and lingering questions aside and moved to the operating table. He ran the heat-free sterilizer across Soundwave's side, then across the gladiator's entire body, just to be safe. The weld itself had begun to tear, and droplets of energon seeped through. Shockwave removed the remained of the weld with no preamble, though he was uncertain what else he expected when Soundwave flinched. 

Picking up the sterilizer again, Shockwave ran it over the injury, taking the time to sterilize even the edges Soundwave's autorepair had sealed. He was not yet sure how valued Soundwave is in Megatronus's optics, but it would not do to accidentally risk a rust infection due to simple carelessness. 

Wordlessly, Shockwave reached for the jar of nanites. Raerer and more expensive than the standard, single-command microorganisms he was used to programming as part of his research, these medical-grade nanites were complex things, designed to mimic and accelerate a Cybertronian's own natural autorepair and healing processes. 

On his part, Soundwave remained wordless. Shockwave took a second to contemplate the logic of asking about the gladiator's choice of words—or lack thereof—but resisted. Besides Flatline, whose motives were equally questionable, Soundwave remained the closest thing to an ally Shockwave had in this place—which was not saying much, since Shockwave _ still _was not sure if Soundwave truly intended to help or hinder him. Regardless, Shockwave was not willing to risk the possibility of an alliance, especially to someone so (apparently) trusted by Megatronus. 

So Shockwave remained silent, cleaning the now-sealed injury. When his scans detected no trace of microbial infections, he set the sterilizer down. 

"I am finished," Shockwave said. "Assuming you were able to avoid unnecessary strain on the affected section of your frame, you should be fully recovered within the week." 

Soundwave nodded. Shockwave watched as the gladiator runs a clawed hand across the recently-repaired protometal and armor, touching him far more tenderly than Shockwave thought possible. Apparently satisfied, Soundwave stood and gestured to the still-unopened cube. 

"Ah." Shockwave hadn't refueled in public since before his operation, and he was loathe to begin doing so now. But he nodded, made as if to move to take the cube. "My thanks." 

Soundwave tilted his head in what might be amusement—or frustration. 

And then he was gone. For the first time in what felt like eons, Shockwave was truly alone. Here, there were no surveillance drones, no assistants or fellow researchers. With the door closed, Shockwave could not even hear the sounds of the barrack's denizens in the hall—not that there were many to begin with. 

Shockwave examined the cube, tracing one finger over the unbroken seal with guarded suspicion. He hadn't thought outright poisoning—or drugging—was a gladiator's first choice, but it was becoming clear Soundwave was not all he seemed to be. 

Shockwave popped open the cube.


	2. Chapter 2

The cycle passed slowly, but before it was over, Shockwave had become more familiar with gladiatorial customs and superstitions than expected--or desired. He considered the appeal of scouring the small waiting area free of nicks and unintelligible glyphs meant as blessings to comrades, but decided against it. Chances were they would simply reappear again tomorrow, deeper and more permanent. Shockwave compromised, choosing instead to program the cleaning drones to remove any surface-level contaminants.

Once his workspace was as clean as possible, Shockwave armed the security system and locked the door. It was a simple system, and would not deter anyone truly serious about entering uninvited, but it _ was _enough to frustrate a group of drunken warriors looking for easy entertainment. Shockwave made a note to speak to Flatline about upgrading the security system. 

By the time he returned to his habsuite, it occurred to him to check his messages. Likely there would not be any, but Shockwave still had a few contacts who were willing to overlook his new, unflattering, state-sanctioned frame. The recently-fired academic, the overworked lab technician...all were prime targets for his minor network of informants (need to think of a synonym). 

As expected, there were five unread messages. Three were from various scams--likely from whatever advertising conglomerates the Senate sold his personal data to. There was one message from Flame, informing him the Enforcers had been asking after him. Shockwave deleted all four without hesitation. 

The last one gave Shockwave pause. 

It was from an automated sender, letting him know a new user on the datanet had viewed his profile and was requesting his virtual presence in a turn-based game. Shockwave recognized both the user and the game. 

The game was deceptively simple--called _ tongo _by the organics who had invented it and collected the yearly license royalties on it, if Shockwave remembered correctly. Cybertronians tended to call it Folly. It was a turned based game, and winning was determined by the amount of virtual wealth players managed to acquire during its play. Shockwave had never played it himself, but had seen more than a few matches between Mesothulas and his Enforcer on nights when the former stayed too late at the lab. 

Though tempted to discard this message as he had the first four, one thing had him hesitate: normally, the section users added comments in was left blank, as it was assumed the recipient and the sender were acquainted. But this particular message had a string of glyphs attached. 

Shockwave recognized the style of glyphs immediately. It was Soundwave--that much was obvious; Shockwave was slowly becoming aware of the fact that even if he were completely blind, he would be able to recognize Soundwave’s unique style of communication. 

With a flick of a finger, Shockwave accepted. The datanet connection this deep underground was slow--slow enough that by the time the game is set up, Shockwave had finished off the evening's rations. Idly, he wondered who to speak to about upgrading the connection--if such a thing was even possible, considering the questionable legality of their situation. 

**>>start? **

**>>>yes | no**

Shockwave selected yes. 

Not for the first time, Shockwave wondered at his circumstances, the path of choices and consequences that had led him to this point in time. He had only wanted to further science, to recreate a piece of Cybertron's history. 

Even now, all these months after the farce of a trial, after the operation, Shockwave wondered what had happened to his mentor. Jihauxus, the mentor every student fought to impress, the mech who had taken Shockwave under his wing. 

If only Shockwave had been a little more careful, a little quieter when he spoke about their projects. Cloning was not _ strictly _illegal. It was simply not cost-effective, not worth cutting through the kilometers of red tape. 

Idly, Shockwave wondered if Jihauxus had been subjected to the procedure. Would he even recognize his mentor now? He had seen more than a few old associates in passing since his operation, and none had looked at him with even a spark of recognition. His frame has been changed almost beyond recognition--would _ Jihauxus _recognize him? 

* * *

Folly was not designed for extended playing. It was meant to be a quick game, completed in half a cycle or less. It was not meant to be a long game, played over days and weeks and months. 

They played it like that anyway. 

Shockwave found himself enjoying it. He had expected to merely tolerate his time here: _ enjoying _himself had been so unthinkable he had not even felt it an option.

There was the work, of course. It was not nearly as engaging as he had hoped, but it was enough. It was far more fulfilling than the grunt work he had been forced to do after his empurata, but nothing like his previous work. In his spare time, between perfecting Megatronus’s weapons and patching up gladiators, Shockwave played Folly.

He found himself looking forward to the quiet times after his work had been completed, where he was able to sit at his desk and attempt to play Folly with Soundwave. Of course, their schedules rarely intersected--it was often that Shockwave would wake with a notification pinging in his HUD, that Soundwave had played while he slept. Or sometimes he would receive a ping in the middle of the workday, when he knew the gladiators had just finished their practice. 

Shockwave considered attending one of the practices. Though Soundwave had never asked him to, Shockwave found himself watching the occasional match--always the ones Soundwave is fighting in. He was victorious, _ always, _and Shockwave found himself reveling in the crowd's emotions; their rage when a match did not go as planned, the elation as the underdog emerged victorious. 

Most of all, he found himself watching Soundwave. He had long since familiarized himself with the gladiator’s fighting style. While he still watched Soundwave dance across the arena with practiced grace, he had turned his attention to other things: the way the light bounced off Soundwave’s battlemask. The way Soundwave’s hips moved _ just so _when he stepped to the right. The deliberate, careful way his fingers curled around an opponent’s throat as he waited for the confirmation or denial of victory. 

Folly itself was an entertaining diversion, but offered little in the way of true stimulation. What Shockwave truly enjoyed were the messages, sent through the application’s rudimentary chat client. They began innocently, at least at first: inquiries into his day, follow ups on a previous match. But slowly, slow enough that at first, Shockwave had not realized it was happening, it had turned into a conversation, perhaps his first true conversation since his operation. Soundwave was nearly as curious as Shockwave, and sooner than he realized, they were exchanging data almost constantly. Little things, at first: recordings of political addresses with wry commentary attached, the press release of a bogus medical device.

It was only when Shockwave caught himself in the middle of an operation, wondering what Soundwave would think of the newest development in the field of combiner technology, that he paused to wonder if he had gotten in over his head. Soundwave was more than smart--he was _ brilliant, _perhaps the one mech in the arena with an intellect to rival Shockwave’s. With his status and technical abilities, he could speak to practically anyone, converse with the planet’s greatest minds. 

_ Why him? _ Why Shockwave, a disgraced engineer from Kalis? Did he even _ want _ to know, Shockwave wondered. Or would he prefer to live in this tolerable twilight of uncertainty, forever looking and speaking, but unwilling to _ touch? _

* * *

"I have been thinking," Megatronus said. "About names." 

Shockwave did not respond. Neither did Soundwave. Bludgeon, however, had no problem asking. 

They were standing in the arena. It was deserted, obviously--the matches were over and the spilled energon had long since been cleaned. Shockwave had found himself oddly fascinated with the architecture of the place, how it so easily made even the formidable Megatron appear diminutive. 

Beside him, Soundwave remained still. His field is perfectly placid; even and calm. This had not been the first time Soundwave had been subjected to one of Megatronus's rants, nor would it be the last. Shockwave endeavored to remain as calm as the other gladiator. It was not hard--Megatronus was not angry at them--he was not even _ angry. _If anything, he was pleased. 

Megatronus _ was _pleased, Shockwave realized. He had an idea. He had an idea, and they would be witness to it. 

"Names?" Bludgeon asked. "What about names?" 

Megatronus smiled, flashing sharp teeth. 

"I took my name from the Fallen--Megatronus. But even Megatronus is a vestige of the Primes. The corrupt lineage of the Senate bleeds into our cause." 

"Uh-huh." Bludgeon nodded, "What's that mean?" 

"It means, Bludgeon, that we would finally break from the shackles of our oppressors." 

"Okay," Bludgeon said. "So..." 

"So I will be taking the name Megatron." The gladiator's teeth were bared once again, glinting in the dim light. 

"Huh." Bludgeon fingered the hilts of the swords resting on his hips. Shockwave had patched up more than a few gladiators who were found at the mercy of those deadly instruments. "And?" 

"And, Bludgeon," Megatronus--Megatron--said with forced patience, "This did mean that we must find a cause for ourselves. We have been nameless until now, rallying behind my name." 

"I get it," Bludgeon said, and Shockwave turned to look at him, more out of a vague fascination than any real desire to hear the gladiator speak. “You’re looking for a party name.”

"Do you have any suggestions, Bludgeon?" Megatron asked. 

"Me? No, no." Bludgeon shook his head emphatically, as though his words were not enough to dissuade Megatron. 

"Mm." Megatron grinned again, red eyes glinting in the light. "Shockwave?" 

That was a surprise. Shockwave had never considered himself a part of Megatron's inner circle--he had believed himself present only because Megatron enjoyed an audience. 

Shockwave forced himself to remain still as he considered his response, all too aware that the others had turned to face him. Surprisingly, he felt Soundwave’s gaze the most uncomfortable, as though the mech was simply waiting for him to say something foolish. 

“Well?” Megatron asked. Shockwave had to fight the urge to respond with the first thing that came to his mind--he _ had _thought that habit broken by Jihauxus. Apparently not. 

“Perhaps you should focus your name on your cause,” Shockwave offered. “Condemning the inequality and deceptions the Senate and the Council so freely impose upon us.” 

“That is rather a mouthful,” Megatron said. “Though it remains a succinct view of our goals.” 

Unsure whether he was expected to continue, Shockwave remained quiet, analyzing possible responses. Bludgeon was too dim to think of a proper term for Megatron’s cause. Soundwave remained as quiet and stoic as ever. And Megatron simply watched the three of them with narrowed optics, as though they were failing an examination that they did not know existed.

Finally, someone spoke. 

It was not Bludgeon, as Shockwave had expected. It was Shockwave’s own voice, overlaid with static and obviously edited, merging words and intonation with effortless ease. 

̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀Deception--con(demn) ̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀ Soundwave said. ̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀Decepticon: ̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀

Megatron blinked, and Shockwave felt a warm rush of gratitude towards Soundwave. 

“How fitting,” Megatron said, finally. “That we will rise up from Kaon’s eternal twilight to shed light on our leadership’s abuses of power._ Decepticons _ it is.” 

That seemed to be the end of it. Bludgeon wandered off first, while Soundwave and Shockwave remained, though Megatron’s attention was solely focused on the other gladiator. Shockwave remained nonetheless, uncertain if Megatron expected them to wait until they were dismissed. 

As if he had heard Shockwave’s thoughts, Megatron said: “You are dismissed, Shockwave. I do look forward to seeing the finalized prototypes of your first contribution to the Decepticon cause.” 

Shockwave nodded. He headed out the side door, painfully aware that Soundwave had turned to watch him go. 

Though the rest cycle had long since begun, Shockwave remained just outside the side exit. It would make far more sense to return to his quarters and contact Soundwave later. The gladiator was obviously busy--Megatron either desired a fight, or something more intimate. 

As subtly as he was able, Shockwave shook his head. He had been wrong about gladiatorial customs before: surely this meeting was strictly business. Besides, Soundwave was more than capable of making his own decisions. He and Shockwave had never even _ discussed _the possibility of interfacing, much less negotiating an exclusive relationship. As far as he knew, Soundwave was content to keep his interaction with Shockwave casual. Shockwave could not find it in himself to be upset--compared to Megatron’s raw, unbridled power and charisma, Shockwave had very little to offer. Perhaps he was an interesting diversion, something for Soundwave to test his considerable intellect against. Or perhaps Shockwave was overthinking the entire matter. 

Shockwave had just settled on _ overthinking _and had started walking back to his quarters, when the door opened. Soundwave stepped into the hall. He sported more than a few new dents and scrapes, with silver-grey paint transfers on his forearms. 

A fight, then, Shockwave realized with some relief. Soundwave increased his pace incrementally, and Shockwave decreased his in equal measure. 

“I must thank you,” Shockwave said, at once feeling incredibly awkward. For all he knew, Soundwave had spoken purely to answer Megatron’s question without having to dig through terabytes of audio clips. Nevertheless, he continued: “Calling Megatron’s cause _ Decepticons _will take them far.” 

Soundwave made a vague gesture with one hand. Shockwave’s HUD pinged: it was an invitation to refuel at the refinery furthest from the barracks. The one, Shockwave knew, that was usually empty, especially at this time of night. 

It might be nothing, Shockwave knew. It might be purely professional, a chance for Soundwave to inquire about his work. 

Or it might be everything. 

Shockwave accepted. 

* * *

Bludgeon’s frametype was not dissimilar to Shockwave's--strong but blocky. Unlike Shockwave's frame, Bludgeon had modified his body willingly--nearly every piece of armor had been swapped out for something sturdier and more deadly. Bludgeon's preferred weapons were swords: a pair of deadly sharp blades, currently strapped to his back.The swords were coated in energon from his unfortunate opponent--a mech, Shockwave knew, who was currently lying in stasis on Flatline’s operating table. 

Out of all the mechs in the arena, Shockwave would not have guessed Flatline would be the most approachable, the one he felt most at ease with. With Soundwave, there was always excitement, Shockwave wondering at the gladiator’s limits and abilities, while Soundwave studied the engineer as though Shockwave were a piece of equipment in need of repair. But Flatline seemed more interested in airing his grievances against the Senate than one-upping Shockwave; he appeared content to spend his days repairing mech after mech, so long as there was a listening ear around. 

Bludgeon’s injury was worse than it looked: a jagged mess of crumpled plating at his side, armor missing and energon spilling bright blue fluid onto his armor, but it had missed the major energon lines. 

Bludgeon did not seem bothered by Shockwave's ministrations. Perhaps it was the high of the battle, the rush of adrenaline that had him feeling immune to the pain. He looked up from the floor and stared right into Shockwave's optic. 

"Hey there...good looking."

Shockwave had to resist the urge to scoff. Even before the operation, he was not considered attractive by any stretch of the imagination. Now, the only ones who considered him attractive were either too intoxicated to notice or simply had tastes most were unwilling to cater to. 

"Your left rear stabilizer had been damaged," Shockwave said, instead. "It will require extensive recalibrations." 

"Recalibrations?" Bludgeon frowned at nothing in particular, adrenaline-alight optics focused on something only he could see. "Recalibrations." 

"Recalibrations," Shockwave repeated. It was tempting to put the gladiator under fully, to be able to work in the quiet. It was equally as tempting to put the gladiator under fully, to open him up to see what made him tick. Perhaps Flatline was rubbing off on him, after all. 

"I would need to put in an order for a replacement." 

No. Bludgeon was no Soundwave, but he was still too valuable in Megatronus's eyes. It would not do to squander what little goodwill Shockwave had accumulated by cutting open a known gladiator instead of the rookies who so often came to the medbay. 

"Sounds good to me," Bludgeon said, in that particular tone of voice that informed Shockwave the gladiator had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. 

"Consider yourself lucky," Shockwave said. "If your opponent had been half an inch to the right, we would be discussing a fully deviated stabilizer." 

"Uh-huh," Bludgeon said, as Shockwave administered the anesthetic. "Uh-huh." 

"Uh-huh." Bludgeon's optics were glazed over, and Shockwave found himself wondering if he had given the gladiator too much anesthetic. Was he actually falling asleep? "You know you're pretty." 

Shockwave didn't reply. What was the point in responding to a gladiator who was clearly inebriated? Bludgeon was clearly lying--and if he was not, there was still nothing Shockwave wanted to do about it. Bludgeon was certainly attractive--for a mech who spent all his free time guzzling engex. 

"Pretty," Bludgeon said again, though the word was now laced with static. 

Shockwave had to resist the urge to scoff. 

He waited a moment, then gave the gladiator an experimental nudge with the welder. When Bludgeon didn't react,, Shockwave shrugged and turned back to his work. 

It had barely been ten minutes before the door to his lab slid open. Shockwave didn't hear footsteps. Instead: 

" ̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀pretty- ̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀:" 

"In some circles it is considered rude to eavesdrop," Shockwave said, idly wondering if he should feel annoyed. He didn't. If anything, it was a strange comfort, knowing that someone else would hear what went on in the lab. Of course, at the academies and the research labs there had always been bugs, planted under tables and shrunk down to the size of microns, but those were impersonal things, designed only to collect trade secrets and hard data. Not to spy on _ him. _

Shockwave wondered if the notion of Soundwave spying was intended to be so alluring. The thought sent his spark spinning. 

The gladiator's shoulders shook in silent laughter. Soundwave moved forward, pausing for a moment to examine Bludgeon. He examined the gladiator's injury with mild interest, nudging at open wounds with curious fingers.

"You would have done something differently?" 

Soundwave turned--slowly, slow enough that Shockwave had enough time to worry he might have said the wrong thing. 

̷̛̺͇̈́̾̇̅̆̊̚ ̷̢̡͎̘̲̬̺̄͑̽̒͆͐̅̊̐̈̉͠ͅ ̴̧̼̣̼̝͍͙̗̬̫͇̗̟̑̈̅͛̀͑̅̒͝Amateur ̷̛̺͇̈́̾̇̅̆̊̚ ̷̢̡͎̘̲̬̺̄͑̽̒͆͐̅̊̐̈̉͠ͅ ̴̧̼̣̼̝͍͙̗̬̫͇̗̟̑̈̅͛̀͑̅̒͝ Soundwave said--if Shockwave recalled correctly, that was a former announcer's voice. then he turned, fast enough that it took Shockwave by surprise. 

Soundwave stretched out a hand. Shockwave remained still as the gladiator's fingers touched Shockwave's shoulder, slowly tracing up towards his throat. And then his hand moved even further up, until his fingers glided over the side of Shockwave's face. 

Shockwave had to resist the urge to lean into the touch. It was not right--was it? What was right, in this situation? They were both willing and able, _ more _than willing and able. At least...Shockwave was willing and able.

He wanted to know why Soundwave wanted it. Was he doing it out of some kind of misplaced pity? Was he doing this to gather some type of information? Was this part of some twisted game? Or--the least likely option--was he truly interested in Shockwave? 

That thought--that single, painful thought--was absurd enough to prompt a strained chuckle. 

Soundwave paused, hand still on Shockwave's face. 

"I apologize," Shockwave said. "I was thinking." 

Shockwave's HUD pinged. Soundwave had sent a single {?}, overlaid with glyphs indicating genuine interest.

"I was hypothesizing your reasons for engaging with me in this manner." 

Soundwave waited. He was patient--Shockwave could appreciate that about him. And both of them appreciated honesty. 

"I question your motives," Shockwave admitted. "The reasoning for your...flirtations. It is all well and good to discuss advancements over rations, but I question your apparent desire to physical contact." 

"̴̣̌ͅ\̸̪̑̑\̷̢̍̉Flirtations ̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀" Soundwave repeated. "̴̣̌ͅ\̸̪̑̑\̷̢̍̉motives. ̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀" 

"Yes," Shockwave said. "I would like to believe--to hope--that you were not doing this purely to gain something from me."

"̴̣̌ͅ\̸̪̑̑\̷̢̍̉purely for you--and me. ̷͎͕̆̌ ̷̼̜̀" 

Shockwave made what he hoped was a noncommittal noise. 

"I would like to believe you," Shockwave said. "I ask that you be patient." 

Soundwave nodded. He withdrew his hand, and Shockwave had to resist the urge to reach out to grab it back. 

"Thank you," Shockwave said. "It is appreciated. Truly."

* * *

When Shockwave arrived in his habsuite, his console was flashing. Shockwave barely used the thing--it was an ancient thing, useful only for basic queries and taking up space. Nevertheless, he had set up a notification system for any mention of his protégés or his mentor. 

Shockwave powered on the console and settled down at his desk. He expected little--a press release about Flame's latest findings in the propagation field, or even an article in the xenobiological field courtesy of Mesothulas. 

What he had not expected was to see Jihauxus himself, clad in the ornate decor signifying his status. Jihauxus had never worn such a thing when he had been with Shockwavee, when he had been in the lab or in the field, Jihauxus had never flaunted his status or rank, never used his status to pressure others to respect him. Now Jihauxus looked somber, every bit the revered scientist Shockwave had known he had been. 

He stood before what Shockwave recognized as the Grand Imposium--a fantastic, superfluous nickname for a simple place of learning. 

_ "It pains me greatly to admit," _ Jihauxus was saying, _ "That a mech with so much potential could stray so far from our ethics, our practices. That Shockwave had been so selfish as to sell genetic data to foreigners for the purposes of inciting treason was unthinkable. I have allocated all available resources towards repairing the damage Shockwave's actions have caused." _

Shockwave shut down the console with significantly more force than was necessary. 

For the first time in months--years, perhaps, his spark felt hollow, his tanks twisting and too hot. 

Why?

_ Why _ had Jihauxus lied? Why was he standing before the public recanting his work-- _ their _ work? Why was Jihauxus _ fine? _Had his connections been enough to prevent empurata? Was this recantation a part of the deal? 

Shockwave could only wonder. He pushed back from the desk and stood, then began to pace. 

But was that _ all _he could do? He had not left Kaon since arriving. He had hardly left the compound at all, save for the occasional trip with Flatline to medical warehouses that sold the arena their medical supplies.

There was nothing truly keeping him here. There was consistency, routine. But this was not his place, Shockwave knew. 

He _ missed _Kalis, Shockwave realized, missed Kalis with a fierce longing in his spark he had not realized existed until now. 

There was nothing keeping him in Kaon, nothing preventing him from leaving. He could visit Kalis easily, and he knew Jihauxus's haunts. Even if Shockwave's credentials had been blacklisted, there was nothing preventing him from entering Censre's Bar. 

Before he could think, Shockwave had purchased a ticket. The transport would not depart Kaon until the end of the work cycle--it was nearly over, but it would give him enough time to reach the station before it arrived. 

Shockwave cast a glance around his room. He had been here for years, but it felt no more welcoming than a hotel. The chances that Jihauxus would take him back were slim, but not impossible. 

What did Shockwave hope to find in Kalis? An explanation? An apology? Neither would reverse the empurata. The empurata could _ not _be reversed, unless. 

Unless Jihauxus, with his connections and brilliance, could. 

Shockwave stepped out the door. 

He had not expected Soundwave. The gladiator's frame had fresh scuff marks and a shallow laceration on his left arm, but he was otherwise unharmed, staring up at Shockwave with a quizzical tilt to the head. 

"I am departing for Kalis," Shockwave said. "I am unsure when--or if--I would return." 

Soundwave's shoulders stiffened. Shockwave would have been blind to miss the trepidation in his frame. 

Of course, Soundwave offered no response. 

"I wish you well," Shockwave said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I've been traveling and was unable to post this properly on mobile without utterly ruining the formatting.

The ride back to Kalis felt longer than the ride to Kaon.  It was the rest cycle for all but the lowest-caste mechs and it showed-the checkpoints between Cybertron's polities were running on skeleton crews.  The suspicious glances and pointed questions Shockwave received as the guards looked at his identification chips were less severe than he had anticipated, leaving him more than adequate time to watch as the transport sped through Cybertron's wilderness, past the twin towns Peptex and Petrex, and into the more densely populated polities.

Shockwave found his thoughts turning back to Soundwave.  He had looked so confused when Shockwave left, as though Shockwave had been speaking an unknowable language.  Was he angry? Disappointed? He should not be.  They had been associated for less than a full solar rotation, hardly any time at all for a species as long-lived as they were.

Still. There would have been nothing wrong with explaining it to the gladiator.

Perhaps Shockwave could contact him once it was over.

The rest cycle had nearly ended by the time the transport stopped in Kalis.  Shockwave stepped out onto a familiar street, feeling the weak warmth of the sun on his frame, and for the first time in years, he dared to hope.

At this time of morning, Jihauxus would be leaving Censre's-the establishment was well-known for being open regardless of the weather or time of day.  That, plus its proximity to the Grand Symposium, had made it popular among Kalis's scientists.

Jihauxus would have picked up his morning rations from Censre's an hour ago, Shockwave knew, and would be walking back to the lab.  He knew his mentor's route as easily as he retraced his steps in his home city, feeling at once both invisible and blatant, as familiar faces gave him a wide berth on the street, but passed him by without a second glance.

There. Jihauxus walked along the street, cube in one hand and a datapad in another, oblivious to the flow of the foot traffic.

Shockwave waited until Jihauxus had turned onto a less crowded street before speaking.

"Jihauxus." Jihauxus dropped the cube and datapad.  They clattered to the ground, spilling bright blue liquid onto the cracked screen.

"Shockwave?" "Yes." Out of all the things Shockwave had expected, fear had not been one of them.  His mentor looked scared, as though Shockwave was a specter from the dead, a walking cybonic plague infection.

"You're here," Jihauxus stuttered. "I thought-Flame told me—"

"I saw your broadcast," Shockwave said simply.  Jihauxus's face fell.

"Of course you did." Jihauxus sighed and bent to pick up his datapad, leaving the cube where it lay.  Shockwave considered picking it up-now, he knew how valuable such energon would be, especially in the arena where high-quality rations were rarer than sharkticon fangs. 

"Come with me."Shockwave left the cube where it lay, and followed his mentor into the Grand Symposium.

The guards at the Grand Symposium did not give either of them a second look.  As the doors slid open and a rush of cool air hit Shockwave's frame, he relaxed.  The mechs walking by paid him no mind-their attention was solely focused on Jihauxus, who led him to his office.

Shockwave noted with some irritation that the scientist had a new protege-Shockwave didn't know the mech by name or reputation, but based on his frametype he could not be more than a thousand rotations old.  Strange.

"Sit." Jihauxus said. "Please."

Shockwave sat, at once remembering the countless times previous he had sat in this very chair, waiting to discuss the results of the latest set of experiments or their lack of funding.

"You changed your paint.” Shockwave did not look down at his frame, nor did he answer.  The transition from blue and green to monochrome purple had been a difficult one, but Shockwave could not bring himself to regret it.

I suppose you have questions,” Jihauxus said, finally.

"Why did you recant our work?" Shockwave asked, without further preamble. "Was that the price for sparing your frame-the destruction of millennia of research?"

Jihauxus pursed his lips, looking for all the world like a teacher preparing to chastise an errant student.  Despite the circumstances, despite the many years it had been since Shockwave had been that student, Shockwave felt his plating crawl, anticipating a sharp explanation of his error.

"The work continues, Shockwave," Jihauxus said. "Though it will do so without your invaluable assistance."

"I do not understand," Shockwave said. "The retraction—"

"In name only," Jihauxus leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "The Senate has permitted me to continue."

"Which renders my disbarment unnecessary," Shockwave said carefully, feeling as though he was saying something he was about to regret.

"Ah." Jihauxus murmured something too quiet for Shockwave to hear, then continued: "As mentioned in the press release, the investigation concluded that one of our researchers had been selling the cybernetic data to outside parties."

"To fund Megatron's crusade," Shockwave said.  If he could have, he would have frowned.  He had not begun communication with Megatron until well after the empurata. "The Senate had assumed—"

"The Senate knew you were not involved," Jihauxus interrupted. "That was never in question."

Shockwave leaned back. Space-cold realization blossomed in his chest, and for the first time, he realized the look in Jihauxus's eyes was one of pity.

"It was you," Shockwave said. "You sold the data to Megatron-for Megatron."

"Megatronus, at the time," Jihauxus said, as though that mattered at all.  "I had planned to leverage their cause against some of our political opponents, but it seemed Ratbat was a keener adversary than I realized.  I agreed to cease my operations until Ratbat could be dealt with. You were valued, Shockwave, make no mistake—but the choice was between you or I."

Shockwave stood, distantly making note of the way Jihauxus had tensed, the way his former mentor had begun eyeing the door. 

"I didn't leave you!" In the half second of silence between his words, Jihauxus's previously-smooth voice had turned frantic.  Afraid. "I contacted Megatron, suggested you when he looked for an engineer. You were safe in Kaon!"

Shockwave lunged. He knocked over the desk and its contents, slamming Jihauxus into the wall.  It cracked and dented under the pressure as Shockwave held his mentor in place, fingers wrapped around the mech's throat.

Jihauxus had not expected it.  It took a microsecond for his processor to catch up, and when it did, the mech's optics went wide with fear.

"Look, Shockwave, I can—" "Spare me." Shockwave tightened his grip incrementally, feeling the plating covering Jihauxus's throat slowly start to crumble. "This is your fault."

Blunt fingers scrabbled fruitlessly on his wrist as Shockwave held him aloft.

Was he really, truly going to do this?  If he did not move, Jihauxus's processor would burn out from lack of fuel in less than a moment.  Considering the numerous upgrades the mech must have installed, it would likely take even less time.  Jihauxus deserved worse.

Shockwave relaxed his grip. Jihauxus fell to the floor and remained there, massaging his throat as his body frantically re-circulated fuel into his systems.

“Get out,” Jihauxus said. “Get out of here, Shockwave, or I will see to it that the next time, you are left with no hands at all."

Shockwave took one final glance around the room. He had spent so much time here, going over research, discussing funding and ethical disputes. If he left now, Shockwave knew, he would never return.

* * *

Soundwave was waiting when he returned, leaning casually against the door to his lab.

Shockwave ignored him. Soundwave followed Shockwave back into his lab.  Shockwave considered the possibility of ordering the gladiator to leave, then dismissed it just as quickly.  Most likely Soundwave would simply ignore Shockwave and remain, and there would be nothing Shockwave could do.

He endeavored to ignore Soundwave instead, but Soundwave remained, a constant, stubborn presence at the edge of his vision.  Shockwave wondered if the gesture was intended as comforting.

It was, in a way. Just two days previous, Shockwave would have given practically anything to be alone with Soundwave, to be able to interact as freely as Soundwave would allow.  But now, with the sting of Jihauxus’s revelation fresh in his memory, Shockwave wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to wallow in self-loathing.

But if he truly required company, he wanted Soundwave’s.

“Here,” Shockwave said, pushing a crate of requisitioned medical supplies over to the gladiator.  If Soundwave was going to remain, he could help.  At the very least, it would help to break the stifling silence. “Disassemble and sterilize.”

He did not look to see if Soundwave obeyed, but he could hear the soft click of latches being undone. 

Shockwave left him to his work.

* * *

Shockwave had very nearly become used to this new routine. Soundwave seemed to want to spend time with him. That was fine. It was what Shockwave had wanted, wasn’t it? To spend time alone with Soundwave. Shockwave spent most of his mornings working in his laboratory, fine-tuning Megatron’s antimatter cannon.

Once the gladiators had finished their practice, Soundwave would appear.  Always, Shockwave would have work for him-never anything overly difficult, usually cataloging or cleaning or updating unused medical equipment.  Soundwave finished every task with startling efficiency, and before long, Shockwave was at a loss for things Soundwave could do.

And then Soundwave began bringing his own work.  He completed whatever Shockwave asked him to do first, of course, but then he had his own datapads, typing away at whatever Megatron had assigned him.

It was almost-_almost_-like before, in Kalis.  Now, there was no idle chatter, no ignorant, posturing banter and constant one-upmanship.  Soundwave readily responded with voice clips or data packets whenever Shockwave spoke, but Shockwave felt no pressure to continue the conversation.

In short: it had become routine, predictable in its sameness until Shockwave felt his mood returning to what it had been previous to his trip to Kalis.

In one instant, his mood came crashing down as he set his optic upon it.

It was the body of an obviously-deceased Cybertronian.  Approximately Shockwave’s height, he thought in a clinical, detached way, though only half his mass.  The mech’s slender hands, made for operating delicate laboratory equipment, had been crushed, as had his face, as well as amy readily identifying features.

He was, however, readily identified.  Shockwave knew that frame, knew it as well as he knew his own.

Soundwave sat working in the far corner, as though there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.  As though it were perfectly natural to be working alongside the corpse of a murdered scientist.

“Did you do this?” Shockwave asked, when he was certain his voice would not crack.

Soundwave nodded. Of course he had.  Of course.

“Why.” Soundwave moved forward.  He extended a hand, pointing a spindly finger until it touched Shockwave’s chest.  And then he moved his hand, up until it cupped Shockwave’s face, as he had all those months ago.

It was an answer—just not the answer Shockwave had desired.

He had not wanted this. He had wanted to return to Kalis, to be restored to his original frame. And if he could not have that…

Perhaps he had wanted Soundwave all along.  He had not denied that, certainly, though he had denied any reciprocation of feelings.  Perhaps he had believed, all along, that allowing Soundwave into his life would have prevented him from returning to Kalis, and when Kalis had fallen through, he had been free to pursue Soundwave.

And now Soundwave, perhaps out of some misguided pity, perhaps out of tradition (was presenting a kill a gladiatorial custom?  Shockwave didn’t know), had singlehandedly ensured Shockwave could never return home.

“Get out.” Shockwave said. Soundwave froze.

Shockwave did not repeat himself.  He did, however, take a single step back.

And then Soundwave was gone. Shockwave let out a long, slow exhale.  He turned back to his laboratory, to the body on the operating table.

He had a body to dispose of.

* * *

Shockwave examined his console. It was still a primitive thing, likely not capable of any high-level encryption or anything beyond basic firewalls. He had not used it since before his ill-fated return to Kalis, but it would have to be enough. The one in the medical wing was newer, but likely was under more intense scrutiny and surveillance.

It was not pity that so tempted Shockwave to reach out to his former colleagues.  He was not so far gone as to think it was.

He turned on the console. It hummed and whistled in a way that made him wonder if it was about to simply break down.  But the display screen popped to life, a dull black screen with green text.

Shockwave typed in Mesothulas's comlink frequency.

The reply was nearly instant—which was surprising in and of itself, both because he hadn't been sure the other scientist would answer, and because he had half-believed the console wouldn't be capable of sending a message with any complexity.

>>>𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎? 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎?

Shockwave resisted the urge to scoff. Of course he was alive. Jihauxus had not thought so little of him that he would have Shockwave killed.

>>𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝙼𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚜.

>>>𝙰𝚑. 𝚄𝚑, 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚝, 𝚠𝚎'𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚘𝚛...

Shockwave didn't bother stifling a noise of irritation.

>>𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.

>>>𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸'𝚖 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚝. 𝙷𝚎𝚑. 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝙺𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜, 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞?

>>𝙽𝚘.

>>>𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍! 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍. 𝚄𝚖. 𝙳𝚒𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐?

Shockwave hesitated, fingers poised above the keyboard.  Requesting information from Mesothulas, leaning on his connections to the Enforcers was risky.  Did the potential benefits outweigh the costs?  And didn’t Shockwave think Soundwave deserved to be punished for what he had done?  He had killed Shockwave’s mentor, the only mech in the galaxy who even stood a chance at returning Shockwave’s frame to its original state.

>>𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝙹𝚒𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚡𝚞𝚜’𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛.

Was that too obvious? No. Shockwave had disposed of the body a week ago, taken it to a small, unnamed mining town, somewhere far from both Kaon and Kalis.  He had not tried hard to conceal the body—a missing persons investigation would lead inevitably to him.  And with that would come questions, far more than Shockwave could answer.

>>>𝙾𝚑! 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝. 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕’𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎—𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔.

>>>𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚟𝚎. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝙹𝚒𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚡𝚞𝚜.

Shockwave couldn’t bring himself to respond.

He shut down the console and stepped back.  How foolish of him, to have contacted the scientist.  There was a non-zero chance that this communication would throw suspicion on him.

A thought occurred to Shockwave, one so farfetched it had not even factored into his calculations.

Had he been lonely? Is that why he had contacted Mesothulas, despite the risks?

Though Shockwave badly wanted to dismiss the notion as utterly illogical, the chances that he might have remained.

Was he lonely? Had Soundwave's company fulfilled a need that had gone unrealized, and now that Soundwave was gone, had the need sprung up again with a vengeance?

Shockwave did not think he enjoyed that thought.

More out of frustration than any real desire to play, Shockwave accessed Folly.  Soundwave had not played since before their last meeting, and it hurt Shockwave's spark more than he liked to realize it had been nearly a month since he had seen the gladiator.

Perhaps he had been too harsh.  He had wanted Soundwave—and still did.

Ultimately, Shockwave supposed it did not matter.  Somehow, his processor had decided that he missed Soundwave, and it seemed unlikely to change in the foreseeable future.

* * *

It had been three weeks. Five weeks since he had disposed of Jihauxus’ body.  Six since he had last spoken to Soundwave.

Of course, Soundwave was there when Shockwave presented the weapon to Megatron.  He lingered in the background, an ever-present specter at the back of Shockwave’s mind.

For the first time, he saw the massive gladiator's alight with something akin to delight, and Shockwave was not sure how he felt about being the cause of such an emotion.  Even Soundwave seemed to pick up on their leader’s heightened emotions.  He seemed to stand a little straighter, looking a little more alert.

"I neglected to mention, Shockwave," Megatron said.  "That I would be requiring all who associate with my cause to receive some form of combat training. See that you find an appropriate instructor."

Shockwave had to wonder: why.

On the surface, it is a logical request: something was coming. Whether it be a war, or merely a violent revolution, the time he would be required to fight was fast approaching.  Knowing when was far beyond Shockwave’s capabilities, but it was as inevitable as a rust infection on an untreated wound.  The question of if had been removed entirely.  Physical conflict was inevitable, and it would not do to have an asset unable to defend himself.  Megatron had hinted as much during their initial meeting.

But there was something in the way he said it that had Shockwave's processor spinning.  Megatron did not trust him—that much was clear.  Had Megatron heard about Jihauxus?  Was this a subtle way of disposing of Shockwave before the murder could be connected to Megatron’s cause?  Shockwave had believed Jihauxus’s death beneath the gladiator’s notice, but he could never be sure.  Or had Soundwave decided to place the blame squarely on Shockwave?  Somehow, Shockwave doubted it.

"Of course," Shockwave said automatically.  Before he had finished speaking, a message popped up.

From Soundwave, of course. A request to meet him at the gladiator's sparring area in ten minutes.  Shockwave had to resist the urge to respond immediately, though he was unsure if the response would be an apology or a demand for Soundwave to delete his communications frequency.

Unknowing of the message and Shockwave’s new predicament, Megatron dismissed him without preamble.  Shockwave did not know what to do about Soundwave, but he now knew what to do about Megatron.

During the time it took to exit the gladiator’s quarters, Shockwave had plotted a new course of action: success.

Shockwave had never failed at anything in his life.  Combat training would be one more test, one more chance to acquire new skills.  He would accept Megatron’s terms, and hope these lessons would make it a little harder for Megatron to finally kill him.

The halls were crowded. There had been a late, particularly bloody match scheduled for the middle of the gladiator’s rest cycle, featuring two rising stars that were already being compared to Megatron and Soundwave.  It had just finished, and Shockwave trailed behind Soundwave, whose presence is more than enough incentive to have mechs scrambling out of his way.

"Perhaps I was about to request Bludgeon as an instructor," Shockwave said.  He wondered if that constituted as flirting.  It was certainly not a method of communication he was used to.  Soundwave turned and stared. Then an amused ping echoed in Shockwave's comlink.  Sure.

The sparring rooms were not a place Shockwave visited often.  Rarely was he required to go to the lower levels, and the training areas were near the bottom of the structure.

At this hour, there was hardly anyone around; most of the arena’s residents were in the middle of their rest cycle and would be for some time.

The quiet was far removed from what had once been comfortable, but was certainly not hostile—settled between them.  Shockwave was not upset any longer, he realized.  His grief over Jihauxus had been processed as he disposed of the mech’s frame.  All that remained was resigning himself to this: this new, permanent life of not-Kalis, of a too-heavy frame and a blossoming revolution.

Shockwave preferred the quiet, and he had long ago come to believe Soundwave did as well.  Soundwave stood at the edge of a sparring ring, and Shockwave only had a microsecond to drink in the long-missed sight of the gladiator standing so casually, so beautifully, before his HUD pinged with a download request.

It was a data packet of basic combat instruction—its size would be mind-boggling to the average mech, but Shockwave was anything but average.  He integrated the data with ease, standing a little straighter as he felt new combat protocols boot up.

Soundwave gave him half a microsecond.

Before Shockwave could register what was happening, he had been flipped, landing flat on his back with a dull thud.  Soundwave stood above him. All at once, Shockwave saw what countless others had seen: this powerful, beautiful creature standing above him.

([kurxo](https://kurxo.tumblr.com/post/187269196235))

Shockwave knew, intellectually, Soundwave meant him no harm, that this is a training exercise.  But his spark spun anxiously in its chamber nonetheless, at the helplessness of this situation.  He very nearly expected to panic—the last time he had felt helpless, he had been strapped down on an operating slab, forced to listen as the surgeons debated how to most efficiently remodel his frame.

This was so utterly, wonderfully different, Shockwave thought.  There was a tangible difference in the way Soundwave looked at him, Shockwave realized.  With his opponents, there was utter apathy, but with him, there was a particular tilt to his head, the way his hands were not entirely stiff against his sides.Shockwave would never call it tender aloud, but he thought it.

And then Soundwave did something entirely unexpected.

He stepped over Shockwave, and in one swift, graceful movement, knelt.

Shockwave felt the pressure against his armor as Soundwave straddled him.  Shockwave forced his hand to be still as Soundwave's knees came to rest against his sides, and his spark spun in its chamber once again.

Though Shockwave had forced himself to remain still, Soundwave had no such qualms, bringing spindly fingers up to the sides of Shockwave's helm.

([shapeofmetal](https://shapeofmetal.tumblr.com/post/187269047904))

He had never been touched like this before.  There had been numerous couplings, all before the surgery: frantic, frenzied things between other scientists, lab assistants, with strangers.

Never like this. Soundwave let out a long breath—the first sound he had made since they began—and moved even closer.

His hands paused at the curve of Shockwave's helm, where his jaw might once have been.  What did he want? He could not truly expect some show of affection—Shockwave could not, not right now, not in the way that apparently mattered so much to Soundwave, but it was all he could do to remain still, to not lift his hand to rest on the gladiator's hips.

Or was this simply a precursor?  Was Soundwave just going through the motions, doing this because he thought Shockwave wanted it?  Was this some kind of an apology?

Not for the first time, Shockwave wished Soundwave would speak.

Instead, Shockwave found his voice.

"What you want?" Shockwave asked, and he was relieved to note that he did not sound nearly as uncertain as he felt. "I am unsure...I am unsure what you want."

Soundwave huffed. : ̷̞͊ ̴̳̭̄what you want.:: ̷̞͊ ̴̳̭̄

His comlink pinged with a ? glyph.

"What I want." Shockwave said, softly.

Soundwave nodded. His hands had not moved, Shockwave realized, and it was then that Shockwave realized he no longer knew what he wanted.

Kalis? But Kalis was gone. Soundwave?  Soundwave was right here, close enough to touch.  Shockwave was touching him. His old frame?  It was gone, broken and smelted away.

He had never lied to Soundwave, and he would not start now.

"I do not know." For one long, agonizing moment, Soundwave stared.

Then he nodded. It was an uncomfortably abrupt nod, at least compared to his behavior until that moment.  But it was the truth, and if Soundwave hated him for that, Shockwave would not back down.

The release of pressure as Soundwave stood very nearly had Shockwave asking—_begging_—him to return, to come back to take Shockwave's armor in his hands and peel it away, to expose him, to cross cables until he saw static.

Shockwave said nothing. And then Soundwave was gone, and Shockwave was alone.

* * *

Flatline’s laboratory was substantially larger than Shockwaves, but was far messier.  Stacks of disorganized datapads lined the shelves, and the actual operating table had not been cleaned in soem time.  However, Flatline’s actual workspace remained relatively clutter free, providing them more than enough room to sit and comiserate.

Flatline had retold his combiner story at least three times—Shockwave had stopped keeping track after the second retelling.  Flatline’s preferred intoxicant of choice was his own personal blend of smuggled engex and various chemicals, which he lovingly called Nightmare Fuel.  Two drained cubes of the stuff lay discarded on the counter beside Shockwave’s own, nearly full cube.

He would have preferred to resolve this issue on his own, but had come up short.  He had little expertise in the way of interpersonal, unprofessional relations, and he certainly could not ask Soundwave for advice.  That left Flatline.

Drunk as he was, there was still a knowing glint in Flatline’s optics as Shockwave posed the question.

“Initially I thought he was coming onto you because he wanted a favor,” Flatline mumbled. “Something about reformatting or whatever.”

“Reformatting?” Shockwave asked, but Flatline waved his hand dismissively.

“You know how they are. Always looking for a new upgrade, whatever they need to get on edge on the competition. Probably nothing different.”

Shockwave saw no point in continuing this line of conversation.  Soundwave had never requested so much as a patch—Shockwave had always been the one to offer his assistance.

“You have said you have experience in these matters,” Shockwave said.

“Um, yeah.” Flatline drained another cube and set it beside the others.  “Enough to know you’ve got it bad, Shocks. Almost as bad as he does.”

Shockwave ignored the condescending nickname.

“I mean, you’re willing to sit here on your off-shift and listen to me?  That’s devotion, or desperation. Or something.”

“I believe you had advice to offer,” Shockwave said.

“Right.” Flatline examined the last, unopened cube with suspicious optics.  “Talk to him. Tell him what happened, how you felt, or whatever. At least he’s gotta respect that, even if he doesn’t agree with you.”

“Talk to him,” Shockwave repeated. “That is it?”

Flatline blinked. “The other option’d be locking the two of you in the supply closet for a night, but I’d hate to clean up that mess.”

“That was decidedly unhelpful, Flatline,” Shockwave admitted. 

His processor ached. 

"But I will think on what you have said.”


	4. Chapter 4

Shockwave could not conceal the slight thrill he felt as Soundwave walked into the medical wing. He had left Flatline unconscious in his office, sprawled out on the stained couch and headed directly back to his own laboratory. 

It was in the middle of the recharge cycle, and Soundwave had agreed to come. Shockwave had half hoped, half feared Soundwave would have ignored the message entirely and not shown. 

Shockwave sat. Among the gladiators, was a show of deference, he knew, to be the first to sit.

“Thank you for coming.” 

Soundwave nodded. Shockwave regarded Soundwave, taking in his posture, the way Soundwave did not hesitate before sitting, how intensely Shockwave felt the weight of his stare. 

“I understand,” Shockwave said softly, “Your intentions.” 

As always, Soundwave remained silent, though Shockwave knew he was being even more intensely scrutinized. 

“I know you had killed Jihauxus killed for me,” Shockwave said. “I cannot lie: I was angry. Even if he had been resistant, he was one of the few—if not the only—mechs who could restore my frame to its original state.”

Soundwave nodded. 

"To say that, until returning to Kalis, I had resigned myself to this existence, to you, would not have been in error." Shockwave fought the urge to wince in anticipation of Soundwave's reaction, but Soundwave did not retaliate. He merely nodded again, and waited. 

"I had wanted both worlds," Shockwave said. "Kalis, and you. I had not thought they were compatible. They still are not, though now I realize that I had chosen wrong." 

That was not even a tenth of what he had to say, of the apologies bubbling up in his voicebox, but Shockwave forced himself to be silent, to stop and wait for a reaction from Soundwave. He had not thought Soundwave was one to enjoy a mech’s discomfort, yet he remained silen and still.

Soundwave continued to wait. Shockwave was quickly growing uncomfortable with the silence, for perhaps the first time since their meeting. 

Time seemed to slow, the world collapsing in on itself until just the two of them remained. Though he knew it was purely an emotional reaction, one brought on by the stress and uncertainty of the situation, not to mention the late hour, Shockwave remained unnerved. 

"I should have chosen you from the start," Shockwave said. "You remained with me when no one else did. I should have done the same for you." 

Soundwave leaned back in his seat. 

"Please," Shockwave said. "I understand if you wish to terminate our association." 

For another, eternally long moment, Soundwave was silent and still. Shockwave was silent also, listening to the quiet sounds of the laboratory: the soft tick of the chronometer, the gentle hum of the maintenance drones as they began their scheduled rounds cleaning the floor.

And then he shook his head. 

Shockwave let out a relieved breath. The world seemed to come back into focus, settling back down into a comfortable uneasiness against his frame. 

"I am glad." Shockwave felt his frame relax, and he let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. "Tell me—what do you want?" 

Idly, Soundwave tapped the edge of the table. 

: ̴̛̖̣:::—you. ̴̛̖̣:: Shockwave's voice, this time. 

"Thank you," Shockwave said. "I would like the chance to rectify my behavior." 

Soundwave nodded. He stood, and Shockwave was quick to follow. Though he knew it was not accurate, that he was simply focused more on the movement than usual due to the extended amount of time he had been sitting, Shockwave felt nearly certain there was a spring in his step, as though he was moving faster than normal. 

Soundwave led him down the hall, past the barracks and onto the elevator. Shockwave did not speak as they waited for the lift, relishing the now-comfortable silence between them. 

They stepped out at the lower level—the same level as the training rooms, Shockwave noted. 

Soundwave led him to the training area. Shockwave did not fail to note that it was the same one they had used before, though in the interim it seemed to have acquired more than a few new stains. 

"You desire a fight?" Shockwave asked. 

Soundwave inclined his head. 

"Very well," Shockwave said. "I will do my best to provide you with one." 

Unlike the first time, Soundwave gave him no time to orientate himself. He attacked with such speed that Shockwave stumbled back instinctively, raising his arms to shield himself from the flurry of blows raining down on his frame. 

Soundwave withdrew, only to make a hard right, attacking Shockwave from a new angle. Again, Shockwave stumbled back, but forced his arms away from his head as he sidestepped. 

He was free, out of range of Soundwave's attacks for one blessed second before Soundwave lunged forward once more. 

It felt like an eerie echo of the first and only other time they had fought. Shockwave tried to meet Soundwave in the middle, to use his greater mass to his advantage against the gladiator, but it was Soundwave's turn to sidestep, to once more utilize his size to his advantage. 

Once more, Shockwave was flipped onto his back. Once more, Soundwave stood above him, triumphant. Once more, Shockwave was awed at the graceful, effortless beauty of the mech who stood before him. 

"Am I forgiven?" Shockwave asked. 

Soundwave's shoulders shook in silent laughter. He extended a hand. Shockwave accepted gratefully, and Soundwave hauled him up. Shockwave had to bite back a wince as sore joints protested the sudden movement. He was sore now, but would most certainly be in significant pain after recharge. 

* * *

The pain was a relief, a welcome change from the uneasy limbo of the recent past.

* * *

He had once again fallen easily into the routine, so he  _ knew  _ when something had changed. Soundwave knocked before entering the laboratory—something he had  _ never  _ done before. 

Soundwave entered, and immediately, Shockwave sensed  _ nerves.  _

Which was also new. He had never seen Soundwave nervous, much less _felt _it. Even during his fight with Megatron, and every fight, every skirmish, every wound after, he had never been nervous. 

Soundwave stood at the edge of the lab, not close enough for Shockwave to spy on, not far enough away for him to entirely ignore. There was a datapad in his hands, Shockwave noted. He suspected its contents, though, but he would not pry. Instead, he waited. He could wait. 

Instead, he walks to the refinery and fills two cubes. Megatron's status had granted them better rations than he had been allotted in some time—there was also the possibility of high-grade reaching the barracks in the near future. 

He handed a cube to Soundwave. Soundwave accepted, and Shockwave moved to walk to his seat. When he turned back to Soundwave, the cube was finished and set aside. Shockwave took his time—Soundwave did not mind watching Shockwave's intake port, nor was he put off by the sight of the tube snaking down to drain the energon. Shockwave had never been entirely sure why so many were put off by his frame changes— _ they  _ saw only the physical. They do not feel the pain when he tried to smile, the twitching of his antenna when he tried to frown. Was it because they could not see his  _ face?  _ Shockwave did not know—and he had no desire to ask. 

Finally, Shockwave finished his cube. Soundwave had been staring at his datapad the entire time. Shockwave took both cubes and put them into the disposal. 

Soundwave sighed. 

He handed the datapad to Shockwave. Shockwave blinked, then looked at the schematics. 

It was as he expected—blueprints for a comprehensive reformat. Thinner armor,  _ no  _ armor in the midsection, reforged limbs that appeared thinner than the datapad. 

As always, Soundwave was silent, but Shockwave could sense his unease as Shockwave continued to study the schematics. His processor instinctively began to compile a list: the materials he would need, accounting for the amount of anesthetic needed to safely sedate Soundwave throughout the process. It would need further calculations—with the amount of mass displacement Soundwave would go through, it would likely be  _ extremely  _ risky to keep Soundwave on the same amount of anesthetic. 

Except—he had absolutely no intention of doing this. 

"This operation is extraordinarily risky," Shockwave said. "I am unsure how it would benefit you." 

Soundwave nodded. He presented another datapad to Shockwave. 

Shockwave scanned the new datapad. He expected an essay, a multitude of reasoning. Instead, there was one word. 

_ Please.  _

"Why?" Shockwave asked. "You are optimized, your form is perfect for your function. You are  _ safe  _ this way."

For what felt like the upteenth time that day, Soundwave sighed. This time, it was a long, drawn-out sigh that Shockwave felt all the way down to his spinal struts. 

He could guess, though. He had dealt with it over the years—he  _ still  _ dealt with it. 

"Your frame did not match your processor." 

Soundwave nodded. 

It was time for Shockwave to echo the sigh. 

"I understand," he said, finally. "But I am unsure if I would be able to perform your operation. I have not completed a protoform-deep reformat in some time." 

_ : ̴̛̖̣::You were — perfect.::: ̴̛̖̣  _ Soundwave said.  _ : ̵̼̓ ̴̱̫̃̚:::Perfect. I am —sure.: ̵̼̓ ̴̱̫̃̚:  _

* * *

Soundwave was silent. 

It was an uncomfortable silence. Soundwave had always been quiet, but now he was  _ silent— _ the silence of the operating room was punctuated only by the sound of the respirator cycling energon through Soundwave's systems. Shockwave almost wanted to speak aloud, to break the silence. 

Instead, he remained silent, keeping careful watch at the gladiator’s side. 

Soundwave looked so thin, so frail. Shockwave was certain that if he desired, he could carry Soundwave easily. Gently, Shockwave traced a new weld line, one starting at the edge of Soundwave's hip, leading up to his chest. 

He expected Soundwave's fingers to twitch. He wished Soundwave would wake, to look at him, to take his helm in his hands and just lean in, to let his field brush against Shockwave's. 

Nothing happened. 

Shockwave forced himself to sit back, to relax. He moved his hand to rest over Soundwave's, feeling even-thinner fingers under his palm. And then he leaned forward, brought his head down to rest on Soundwave's chest. 

From this distance, he could feel Soundwave's spark. He had seen it, of course, he saw it earlier that day, pulsing blue and yellow as Shockwave squeezed and compressed protoform into new awkward new shapes. It had nearly caught his breath, seeing it burning bright against the dark gray of its spark casing. Now he heard it, felt it against his helm. It was still strong, still solid and real, but there was a slight stutter to its beat. It was entirely normal, Shockwave knew, a symptom of the recovery process. 

In the few romantic holovids he had bothered to watch in his existence, Shockwave had seen it: the anxious, upset lover, broken-sparked and utterly forlorn, curling up beside their partner as they lay unconscious. Usually their partner would be awakened by their presence, and they would embrace, sharing soft words and softer kisses. 

Shockwave knew his presence had little to do with Soundwave's recovery. Soundwave was sedated; save for his vital systems, his systems had been manually shut down. Soundwave's timed awakening would occur regardless of his presence. 

Still, he waited. 

He sat, tried to do work. There was much work to do; Megatron's work would not stop because of one soldier, no matter how valued. He had begun meeting with a  _ librarian  _ of all people. Did Megatronus think crossing cables with an upperclass mech would give him value in their optics? Was he planning to use this mech—this  _ Orion— _ to climb the ranks, to eventually grant him an audience with the senate? Or had he simply become infatuated? In a million years, would his cause crumble into dust? Would Megatron leave, would he go to Iacon with his new conjux? 

What would become of him? What would become of  _ Soundwave?  _ With this new frame, Soundwave may be weakened, unable to fight as before. And Shockwave would forever be an outcast, persona non grata, simply because of his new body? 

No. No matter what happened, he and Soudnwave would survive. Shockwave had not survived this long, not come so far from Kalis and the Enforcers and his emupurata just to wither away, as a guttermech. He would survive. Soundwave would survive. Likely not together—but if Megatron's cause  _ did  _ falter, Soundwave would survive. 

That was all that mattered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we made it! Apologies for the long delay, my brain decided it just Did Not Want to format this fic properly.

A light touch on his wrist startled him awake. 

It took a whole second for his sensors to adjust, to realize where he was. Not in his habsuite, not even in his lab. This was the operating room, and Soundwave--

Shockwave let out a measured breath. 

"You were awake." 

_ : _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :awake, _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :  _ Soundwave replayed.  :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ and alive.: _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :  _

"Yes." Shockwave reached out and placed his hand on Soundwave's. "You are ." 

Soundwave sent a quick ping to Shockwave's HUD. :: _ Acceptable?::  _

"Yes." Soundwave's hand was warm under his palm. "But is the reformat acceptable to  _ you?"  _

Soundwave nodded. He moved as if to sit up, but Shockwave shook his head, pushed him back down. 

"Your internal sensors were not properly calibrated. You will require help if you intend to stand immediately." 

Shockwave wondered if he had imagined the quiet scoff. 

_:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀__Not acceptable.:__:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀_ Soundwave repeated. :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀_:Help.::__:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀__:_

"As you wish," Shockwave said. "Let me."

Shockwave readjusted the position of his hands, angling Soundwave's body in his hands to better help the gladiator sit up. Soundwave was pliable in his arms, but still so strong, holding fast to Shockwave's shoulders. 

"Here." Shockwave took a step back, and Soundwave stood on unsteady feet. Shockwave was not blind to the way Soundwave's legs trembled as his sensors struggled to adjust to the reduced mass. 

Soundwave's hands were warm on his shoulders. He took a careful step forward, moving until he was toe to toe with Shockwave. 

"Your gyroscopic sensors will require more extensive calibration." 

_ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ engage--with me---patient?: _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _

_ Oh.  _

"I am uncertain this is the proper way to calibrate your sensors," Shockwave said. "But I am willing to indulge." 

_ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ here ? _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _

Shockwave froze. In all his wildest fantasies, he had not actually  _ thought  _ about where to--

"Wherever you wish." 

Shockwave wondered if the gladiator was smiling under his mask. 

_ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ Here. _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ _

"As you wish." 

Shockwave twisted, pulling Soundwave towards him, feeling the gladiator's body tremble beneath his frame. Shockwave's hand moved to trigger the release of his interface port, but Soundwave's hand came up to stop him. 

"Not yet?" 

Soundwave nodded. 

"As you wish," Shockwave repeated. 

Soundwave's hands moved, away from Shockwave's interface ports and up his frame. Shockwave shivered at the touch, as Soundwave's spindly fingers traced his biolights, the thin seams on his armor. 

Shockwave managed a short gasp as Soundwave's fingers found a particularly sensitive spot on his hips. He tried to reciprocate, but his hand refused to cooperate--it was too bulky, not nimble enough to properly feel up the gladiator. Soundwave removed his hand from Shockwave's armor and directed his hand to his torso, where most of his armor had been removed. Soundwave shivered as Shockwave did his best to trace  _ gently,  _ barely enough to even be considered a  _ touch.  _

He had never done this before. Not like  _ this-- _ before, it had been hurried occurrences, always in the break room, between lab techs. This was still in an arena  _ not  _ designed for interface, but it was so slow, so  _ deliberate.  _

A thought occurred to Shockwave.

"Are you recording this?" 

Soundwave reached up, taking Shockwave's helm between his hands. Shockwave leaned closer, pushing his knees against Soundwave's hips to more easily straddle the gladiator. Shockwave let out a sharp breath as Soundwave's fingers caressed his headfins. His headfins twitched, and once again he imagined Soundwave smiling. 

Shockwave gave in and leaned even closer. Soundwave arched his back, bringing his legs up to wrap around Shockwave's hips. Shockwave didn't miss the slight wince as Soundwave moved. 

"Are you in pain?" 

Soundwave nodded. 

"Would you like to stop?" 

A ping. 

_ No.  _

Shockwave nodded. 

"Let me know if it becomes problematic." 

_ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ Would you like-- _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ to stop?  _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _

"No," Shockwave admitted. "I would not." 

Soundwave moved his hand over to Shockwave's interface port. He triggered the autorelease with a simple flick of the wrist. Shockwave raised his own trembling hands and accessed the port on Soundwave's hip.

This time, Shockwave didn't bother stifling a gasp as Soundwave the cables connected. At once, he was overwhelmed by the wash of color and light, and sound and sensation. 

He watched himself through Soundwave's optics-- _ optics,  _ Shockwave noticed, and realized he had forgotten what it felt like to have two. 

He stiffened as barely-contained qualitative data hit his processor, a wave of longing and relief. 

Shockwave felt his body go limp, felt Soundwave shaking as he tried to hold up his frame. The berth was barely big enough for both of them, but Shockwave used the last of his self-control to twist once more, to sprawl ungracefully against Soundwave's side. 

With Soundwave beside him, with their emotions, their  _ being  _ running in tandem, Shockwave let himself slip away. 

* * *

Shockwave came online to the sound of his alarm. 

He had set the thing eons ago, programmed it to go off if a patient required a check in. It had rarely been used, mostly because his patients rarely stayed overnight. Now, though, it was a blinking light in his HUD, a quiet chime in the back of his brainpan. 

Feeling the frame on top of his own, Shockwave froze. In the time it took his short-term processes to catch up with his reflexes, he had already theorized and discarded several dozen simulations of  _ how  _ he could have ended up in such a compromising position. 

The first thing he saw was Soundwave. Soundwave, who now looked  _ so small  _ compared to him, sprawled out over Shockwave's frame. From his angle, Shockwave could see the faint weld lines overlaid on the scars littering the gladiator's armor. They were harsh, asymmetrical things, so far removed from the light, nearly invisible welds. 

He  _ had  _ offered to remove the battle scars, to fully replace Soundwave's armor as a part of the reformat. Soundwave had declined. 

Feeling far more groggy than he was used to, Shockwave blinked, more fully taking in Soundwave. 

He was still in recharge--Shockwave felt the gladiator’s exhaustion as clearly as he felt his own. Perhaps that was why he was so tired--it had been some time since he had shared the sensation of existence.

And now what? Was it over? Not likely--of all the things Soundwave was, Shockwave had never figured he was one to cross cables and run. Were they going to run off together, fleeing the inevitable revolution? 

No. Soundwave was loyal--loyal to Megatron in a way that made Shockwave's tank churn--not from  _ jealousy,  _ he realized, but from  _ fear.  _ Now, Megatron was on the right side, the side of the people, as he championed reforms and equality. 

But what if that changed? Would Soundwave be able to see Megatron differently? Would he be able to  _ leave?  _

If it came down to it, who would Soundwave choose? 

It was a question with no easy answer, Shockwave knew. There was no logic in dwelling on it. 

Yet he did. 

Through their connection, Soundwave felt placid and immutable, though Shockwave was not blind to the undercurrent of soreness at its core. Soundwave would likely require  _ weeks  _ of physical therapy before he would be cleared to fight.  _ Real  _ physical rehabilitation, not the clumsy, passionate testing of new limits he had so recently undergone. 

Shockwave took a moment to examine Soundwave's frame in its entirety. There was no damage that he could see, save for the cosmetic--paint transfers in telltale areas, the scuffs around his hips and interface port. Nothing a rapid buffing couldn't fix. 

He would be up soon, Shockwave knew. Shockwave had learned just last night that Soundwave was an early riser. He had learned so much, seen it all, yet it felt like so little. Back there, in the shared liminal space where their minds had met, he had seen how little he knew of Soundwave--and how badly he wanted to know more. 

Idly, Shockwave twisted his cable between two fingers.

What was he supposed to do now? Vids informed him it would be good form to remain until he awoke, to offer the gladiator Energon and a place to refresh his paint. 

Shockwave had neither of those things in the lab. The only energon was weak and diluted--certainly not what Soundwave needed after such an intensive operation. 

He did have energon in his habsuite. But going there would require moving Soundwave--and, even less desirable: disconnecting their interface cables. 

Shockwave remained where he lay. Soudnwave's breaths were a light touch on Shockwave's armor, the smallest hint of a touch. 

Soundwave  _ was  _ beautiful, Shockwave realized, but it was not the beauty that had first attracted him,. It was the vicious tenacity, his sharp wit. The way he knew so much but expressed so little.

The way he had never once flinched away from Shockwave's expressionless face, his blocky, indelicate frame. 

Shockwave's headfins twitched. Soundwave's hand was still tangled up in them, and the movement had him stirring, looking up at Shockwave with a groggy slowness that had Shockwave wishing he could smile. 

"It appears," Shockwave deadpanned. "Your sensor recalibration was successful."

A tilt of the head, a ripple in the connection between them, told Shockwave the gladiator was thoroughly amused. But Soundwave remained where he was. Shockwave waited, feeling Soundwave's slow, measured breaths as he rested on top of his frame. 

"You should eat," Shockwave said. "If you would get up, I would acquire some." 

Soundwave sent a data pack through their connection, comprised of two words. 

_ No,  _ it said.  _ Stay.  _

"As you wish." Shockwave sent a remote access code to double check the lab door locks. It would not do for an intoxicated gladiator to wander in at this time. 

Soundwave seemed content to remain where he was, so Shockwave relented, bringing his arms up to rest on Soundwave's back. He could feel the light armor under his hands, the warmth of Soundwave's protoform. Absently, he traced a finger down the biolights on Soundwave's waist. Soundwave shivered, not unpleasantly, under Shockwave's touch. 

The next time Shockwave woke, he was alone. His cables had been neatly disconnected and returned to their housing, leaving an aching absense of sensation. 

His energy levels had dropped to critical levels. For the first time in years, Shockwave's tank grumbled and rattled as he stood, examining his body to find the paint transfers. At first glance, they could be mistaken as tricks of the light--not for the first time, Shockwave was grateful that he had chosen a new color scheme. 

The door slid open with a quiet hiss. 

Soundwave stepped in. He still walked with a slight limp, Shockwave noted with some dismay--clearly, the joint in his left knee needed to be realigned. As always, the limp did not hamper Soundwave's grace, the way he seemed to float instead of walk. 

He was beautiful. Of course, he had never been  _ not  _ beautiful, Shockwave knew. 

Soundwave handed him a cube of energon. 

It felt like an echo of their first meeting, except, save for the energon, this was  _ nothing  _ like their first meeting. It was his processor's attempt to recognize and find patterns. 

Shockwave accepted the cube. 

They sat in amicable silence. 

* * *

"Shockwave," Megatron said. "Allow me to introduce a new ally." 

The gladiator stepped aside with a flourish, one clawed hand extended out to reveal a seeker. His build resembled models forged in Peptex, though at some point he had obviously been heavily modified--his frame had been stripped of non essential armor and the state-of-the-art null rays all seekers were forged with had been replaced with some type of antiquated wrist rocket that in no way matched his younger frame. 

Did this mech seek to appear older to the untrained optic? Perhaps he was in a position of leadership--likely a rising star, if he was so keen to attach his name to someone like Megatron's. A mech with solidified power would know better. 

"Starscream," the mech said, in a gravely drawl that grated on Shockwave's audio processors. "I suppose it is a pleasure, meeting one of the planet's most esteemed scientists.  _ Former  _ esteemed scientist, of course." 

"Now Starscream," Megatron said, but with a glint in his optic that told Shockwave he was more than a little amused. "Shockwave is invaluable here--his presence an eternal reminder of the atrocities the Senate enacts with impunity." 

"Which is where I come in." Starscream examined a talon with feigned boredom. "Your spies may be...useful, Megatron, but they lack the connections a career in politics has endowed upon me." 

"Spy," Megatron said. "Singular." 

"Ah." 

"Allow me to introduce Soundwave," Megatron said, with not nearly as great a flourish as the one he had introduced Starscream with. 

Shockwave did not fail to notice his spark skipped a beat as Soundwave stepped out of the shadows. 

"He's been here the entire time?" 

"Attention deflectors were a marvelous thing," Megatron said. "Installed by Shockwave himself." 

"Mmm." Starscream scrutinized Soundwave through narrowed optics, though Soundwave seemed oblivious--or uncaring--of the attention. "Clever, but all the modifications in the galaxy would not get you a meeting with the Council and the Senate." 

"Which is where you come in, Starscream," Megatron said, in the chiding, gentle tone Shockwave had heard so many times before. "I foresee our alliance being...particularly fruitful." 

* * *

"I am concerned," Shockwave said. Soundwave was a pleasant weight on his chest, but even Soundwave's presence was not enough to fully pacify him. It was working, though, Shockwave knew, even as Soundwave reaches out to one spindly finger to trace a lazy path across Shockwave's biolights. Shockwave fights to remain still, to let Soundwave continue his examination. 

"About Starscream." 

Soundwave hummed. it was a low, atonal sound that reverberated against Shockwave's chest. They were equally exhausted from the day’s work, too tired to process the massive sensory data transfers required to interface. Instead, Soundwave had sprawled atop Shockwave, who was more than content to allow the gladiator to examine his frame. 

"He seeks to usurp you," Shockwave said. "To take your place as Megatron's first lieutenant." 

Soundwave shrugged. From this angle, Shockwave could see Soundwave's sturdy frame in all its graceful glory. He had to resist the urge to let the conversation die out, to be replaced by pleasant touches. 

Soundwave shrugged again, but he let his hands creep up to feel the antennae on Shockwave's helm. Shockwave had to fight the urge to flick them back, to give Soundwave easier access to his helm. 

"You were not worried," Shockwave said. "Why?" 

He imagined Soundwave was smiling under his visor. Still, even after all this time, he had never seen the mech’s face, but Soundwave had never seen  _ his,  _ so he supposed it was fair enough. Shockwave stroked the edge of Soundwave’s battlemask with a thumb. A display popped onto the clear glass. Shockwave squinted, leaned back slightly to get a clearer view of the image. It was Shockwave’s vitals: sparkrate, fuel output, temperature. And then another set of vitals: Soundwave’s own. Their sparks beat in tandem--an aftereffect of the interfacing, of the slack cables still connecting their frames. Shockwave traced Soundwave’s cable now, feeling the slight buzz of electricity humming through the connection. 

“You have too much faith in me,” Shockwave said. “Though it is appreciated.” 

He didn’t mishear the soft huff of amusement as Soundwave rolled over onto his side. Idly, Shockwave watched himself through Soundwave’s tactical display. He watched the sharp, angular lines of his helm and headfins, the way his optic dimmed when Soundwave touched Shockwave’s interface cable. 

And then Soundwave moved closer. Shockwave double-checked the locks to his quarters. Almost as an afterthought, Shockwave disconnected their interface cables. He slotted his own cable back into its socket, but did not touch Soundwave’s--he would not condescend dthe mech now, not after all this time. Shockwave moved, allowing Soundwave the space to properly lie against him, against the broad plating of his back. A hand came to rest on Shockwave’s hip. Shockwave lifted his leg, hooking it around Soundwave’s knee. 

He had never felt more content. That much Shockwave knew. Not even in Kalis, when Shockwave had possessed everything he could ever want. Somehow, he had managed to become  _ happy.  _

The thought was jarring enough to startle Shockwave out of his doze. It was only when he felt Soundwave’s free hand on his shoulder that Shockwave relaxed.

He was happy. There was nothing wrong with that, right? Just because he had lost so much, fallen so far, only to be  _ happy…  _

“I remain eternally glad that I met you,” Shockwave said. “I hope you feel the same.” 

In response, Soundwave pressed his battlemask against the spot in between Shockwave’s shoulders. It was a small thing, compared to the acts of affection they were so used to showing each other, but no less welcome. 

“Thank you,” Shockwave said. “Thank you.” 

* * *

"I am curious," Shockwave said, "As to why Megatron requested my presence. I did not believe myself particularly trusted." 

_ :: _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :I did: _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ ::  _ Soundwave responded.  _ :: _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :Not particularly trusted.: _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :  _

Shockwave didn't deny himself a brief chuckle. 

"Myself, or the one he is planning to meet?" 

_::__:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀__Shockwave__:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀__: _Megatron's voice rasped. _:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀__Trusted__:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀_

Shockwave looked to the right, where Megatron and the little archivist sat, thoroughly engrossed in conversation. 

Shockwave had never been introduced to the archivist--Orion Pax, if Soundwave’s files were accurate. And they were, Shockwave had no doubt. He was solidly in the middle caste, at the same level Shockwave had once been, though their functions were different. Shockwave looked at Orion and saw himself, or who he had once been: arrogant and obtuse and so,  _ so  _ naive. 

Shockwave wondered what would become of the little archivist. 

"Does he wish to join Megatron's cause?" Shockwave asked. 

Soundwave shrugged. Shockwave's HUD pinged--Soundwave had transmitted file upon file of surveillance data and personnel records. In the span of a second, Shockwave had learned as much about the archivist Orion Pax as Orion knew about himself. 

"He seems the idealist type," Shockwave said. "A potential foil to Megatron's, at least in terms of methodology." 

_ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ Methodology -  _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ ? _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _

"It seems Orion is the type to attach himself to a cause, to attempt to steer it in the direction he believes it should go." Shockwave pulled up a file of particular interest. "This is not the first cause he has attempted to join." 

: :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ Ascenticons.: _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :  _

"A short-lived splinter group." Shockwave mused. "The Enforcers disbanded them quickly."

_ : _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ Orion -- join -- with -- the Enforcers?: _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ ::  _

"If that were the case," Shockwave said, "I highly doubt you would have let the archivist within a hundred miles of Megatron." 

Gently, not nearly enough to hurt, Soundwave nudged Shockwave's leg. This venue was too public for any form of affection--though Soundwave's compatriots were uncaring of his partner, Soundwave was still a known figure. Shockwave held no illusions that many a mech would be willing to put forth massive amounts of shanix to have Soundwave in their berth for the night. The thought had Shockwave's tank churn with unfamiliar, protective anger--as far as he was aware, no such thing happened to the gladiators, but this was not the proper place to ask Soundwave. Instead, he reciprocated, moving his chair incrementally closer to Soundwave. 

"It is true," Shockwave said. "Unless you planned to use the archivist and his Enforcer friends to further the cause." 

_ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀: _ _ Explain _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀. _

"I can think of several ways," Shockwave said. "But I doubt you would be willing to take the risk." 

_ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ Correct _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀:̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ _

Shockwave looked down at his cube. It was still full--obviously, he was unable to drink the energon without assistance from a straw, which he did not have, and he remained uncomfortable consuming fuel in public.. Soundwave's cube was equally full. 

"So why did he remain here?" Shockwave probed. "If not to serve a greater purpose." 

_ : _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :Orion is --- : _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :: _ Soundwave paused, perhaps considering his response, perhaps trying to find the proper audio clip. : :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ :: _ attached _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _

Shockwave resisted the urge to turn to look at the archivist. Orion had been sneaking glances at  _ them  _ all night--Shockwave felt the archivist's optics boring a hole into the back of his helm. Perhaps he had already asked Megatron about them. Orion knew of Soundwave--it was difficult to know Megatron without knowing Soundwave. But Shockwave remained an enigma, an unknown. 

"Ah." Instead, Shockwave turned back to his drink, watching the way the dim light made the engex look a deeper blue. It was an illusion, Shockwave knew--the lighting had been specially calibrated to make the drinks appear more palatable. An obvious trick, if one knew where to look. "It is personal." 

_ : _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ :Personal. _ _ :̱͔̬̊̄̃:͔̯́̀ _ _ ::: _ Soundwave repeated, then jabbed a finger at Shockwave's chest. Shockwave didn’t react, though he felt a hot rush of shame creeping on his plating. To be honest, he was surprised it had taken so long. Surely Soundwave must have known that Shockwave had never followed the Decepticons out of loyalty. Initially he had followed the Decepticons out of pragmatism, of bitterness. 

But at some point, that had changed. It had changed so slowly Shockwave had not noticed it happening, but it  _ had.  _ Pragmatism had given way to affection--not towards the Decepticons, of course, but to  _ a  _ Decepticon. 

Gently, Shockwave brushed away Soundwave’s accusatory finger. Shockwave moved his hand up and to the side, to trace the edges of the Decepticon insignia on Soundwave’s shoulder: a stylized design of Soundwave’s face. Soundwave had never said if the design was deliberate or a mere coincidence, and Shockwave had never asked. 

"You imply my connection to the Decepticons remained solely because of you," Shockwave said. 

Soundwave nodded. Shockwave gave in and snuck a glance back at the archivist. 

"I suppose you would be correct," Shockwave admitted. "Will that be a problem?" 

After a moment, Soundwave shook his head. 

Shockwave could not contain the slightest sigh of relief. In some ways, he had been dreading this--the moment where Soundwave realized he was not loyal to Megatron, the Decepticons, but to Soundwave. And the moment had come and gone so casually, Shockwave was left feeling slightly disappointed. 

"I am glad to hear that." 

* * *

Soundwave was waiting when Shockwave returned to the habsuite. 

He looked uncomfortable, Shockwave thought, a far cry from the normally confident, comfortable mech who so easily walked through the arena. Now the arena was nearly deserted--Shockwave had gone for hours at a time without seeing anyone besides the cleaning drones. 

"Soundwave," Shockwave said in greeting. 

Soundwave stood. 

There was a datapad in his hands. Soundwave handed it to him without flourish, without preamble. 

Shockwave looked down at the datapad. It was simple, wiped clean, containing only a timestamp and a location. Its simplicity reminded Shockwave of the datapad Soundwave had handed him so long ago, with the single word  _ please  _ on the screen. 

"It has been set," was all Shockwave said. Soundwave nodded. 

_ It  _ was the meeting, the culmination of Megatron’s work. The meeting between Megatron, the archivist, and the Senate. Shockwave had played a minimal role in the effort, save for finalizing the weaponry Megatron’s Decepticons were now armed with if things did not go according to plan. 

"What were your preparations?" 

Shockwave's HUD pinged. He examined the data packet Soundwave sent with a careful optic. It contained files, of course, locations of safehouses, of weapons caches. 

"You have been preparing for some time," Shockwave said. 

Soundwave nodded, stepping forward to rest a hand on Shockwave's arm. Gently, he tugged on Shockwave's hand, leading him out into the hall. 

They didn't pass anyone. Even the halls seemed larger than usual, not filled with the teeming crowds of intoxicated spectators and bloodied gladiators. 

Soundwave led him to the sparring room. 

It looked much the same as Shockwave remembered it, though now there were significantly more stains. 

"Are you feeling nostalgic, Soundwave?" 

Soundwave hummed neutrally. He led Shockwave over to the ring. 

Shockwave had not fought with a partner since his second, one-sided thrashing at Soundwave’s hands. There had been no need; Megatron had apparently forgotten about the order to have his officers battle-ready. But he had practiced the sets Soundwave had given him, going through the motions over and over until his clumsy, bulky body yielded to the demands of his processor. 

As before, Soundwave gave him no warning, no suggestions as to how or where he would attack. 

The practice had paid off. Shockwave felt more fluid, more graceful than the first time they had fought. Of course, he was no match for Soundwave. the gladiator-former gladiator, Shockwave supposed, now  _ soldier _ \--was far more graceful than Shockwave could ever hope to be, even when he had possessed his original frame. 

Soundwave dodged every blow, and Shockwave was pleased to note that more than one of Soundwave's blows had not met their mark. Perhaps one day, with practice, Soundwave would not need to hold back. 

It was good-- _ felt  _ good, but it was also ruthless. There was an edge of desperation to it that Shockwave was not blind to, the mutual knowledge that whatever was happening now, it was soon to come to an end. Something was ending, and something was just beginning. 

Shockwave was not sure if he wanted it to end. He had grown used to this, he realized, as easily as he had grown used to Soundwave's presence, he had grown used to this new life. His life as a not-scientist, his life as a ruthless engineer who cared less for form than function, who simply wished to survive. 

What would his life had been like, Shockwave wondered, if his mentor had not betrayed him? Would he have have ended up here regardless, sparring with one of the planet's most fearsome gladiators? Or would he have kept his helm in the sand, been unwilling to acknowledge the possibility of needful change until it was too late? 

With a seemingly effortless twist, Shockwave was flipped onto his back once more. Static laced his vision as he struggled to catch his breath. 

And then Soundwave was on top of him once more. His warm frame pressed against Shockwave's hips, slender hands caressing the side of Shockwave's face. 

"Wherever you go," Shockwave said. "Whatever you do. Know that I will follow you." 

::::You - ?:::: Soundwave parroted. :::Not -- Decepticons ?:::: 

"You." 

Soundwave leaned closer, close enough that Shockwave felt his breath mixing with Soundwave's. They remained there for a long moment, long enough that their breathing patterns had begun to synchronize. 

_ " _ And _ ,"  _ Soundwave said. "I will follow you."


End file.
